


The Seeker and the Keeper

by SootyOwl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, Boys In Love, Coming Out, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Gets the Love He Deserves, M/M, Quidditch, Quidditch shenanigans, Romance, Secret Relationship, Self-Discovery, Slow Build, hint of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 153,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25426366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SootyOwl/pseuds/SootyOwl
Summary: Harry is still mourning the loss of Sirius and coming to terms with the news of the prophecy when a famous Quidditch player shows up on his doorstep at 4 Privet Drive, offering him the chance to play for England in the upcoming European Championship final. What seems like a crazy idea soon turns the grief filled holidays into one of the best summers of Harry's life as he travels to take part in one of the biggest Quidditch competitions in the world and meets a certain blond Keeper who'll change his life forever.A tale of Quidditch drama and a tentative new romance as Harry discovers he is not as straight as he thought he was ...
Relationships: Harry Potter/Original Male Character(s), Ron/Hermione
Comments: 578
Kudos: 738
Collections: Just sum of ma fav Harry fic





	1. An Unexpected Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Hope you enjoy my fic. This is my take on Harry as a professional Quidditch player and Harry discovering he is bisexual. This story has been completed and will be posted in its entirety, hopefully with at most a few days between updates. 
> 
> Takes place during the time covered by Half-Blood Prince, just before the point in the book when Harry was supposed to meet up with Dumbledore and go and recruit Professor Slughorn.

Harry could not believe it had only been two weeks since he’d arrived back in Privet Drive. He could have sworn someone had cast a spell on the clocks in the Dursley household to prevent them moving at a normal speed.

Upon arriving back at the house he hated, Harry had largely entirely isolated himself from everyone else, something the Dursleys were more than happy to accommodate. He lay flat on his back in his bedroom staring at the ceiling, trying and failing not to see the recurring image of his nightmares; Sirius falling backwards through the Veil.

So far, he’d failed miserably.

He had not felt this lifeless for as long as he could remember, unless it had been last year after the traumatic events of the Triwizard Tournament. Long hours holed up in his bedroom were split between crippling lethargy, silent tears and vicious self-loathing. _Why did I go to the Ministry? Sirius is dead because of me_.

Today was just like every other. He had lain on his bed all night, slowly watching the sky outside turn from black night to a rosy dawn without making an effort to move. The lingering mist of the last couple of weeks pressed up against the windows. His stomach grumbled, but he hardly cared. The emptiness inside him could not be filled with anything as basic as food.

Judging by the sounds from the rest of the house, it was now sometime after breakfast, but he still did not get up. He wondered idly how long he could spend wasting away in this pokey little room. Would there be anything left of him come September?

A clattering at his window drew his attention, and he finally exerted himself to turn his head and see what had caused the noise. Hedwig had swooped in through the open window and had settled herself on his desk, hooting reproachfully at him. A letter was clutched in her beak.

Sighing, but knowing that Hedwig would start making a mess of his room if he did not get up, he dragged himself off the bed and walked towards her. His legs were slightly wobbly as he put weight on them for the first time in hours. She allowed him to take the letter from her beak and then immediately shoved her head against his hand, almost as if she was trying to comfort him.

Harry smiled, and filled the food tray in her cage, removing the water dish and going to the bathroom to fill it up. Hedwig bobbed her head gratefully and began her breakfast in earnest. He was glad of her presence here; it was the only interaction he had with another living thing these days.

Going back to his bed, Harry recognised the handwriting as Ron’s. He couldn’t feel enthusiastic about it. Ron and Hermione had both written to him several times since the start of the summer, both seeking perhaps to try and comfort him over the loss of Sirius, but their letters were hesitant and a bit timid. They didn’t quite understand what he was feeling. He couldn’t blame them; neither of them had lost someone. Instead, he tried to feel grateful they were thinking of him. It was making him feel far less alone than he had last year when he thought he’d been abandoned by everybody.

It didn’t change the fact, however, that the letters simply didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, the effort of replying in as cheerful a manner as he could was draining him far worse than his constant moping.

Harry broke the seal, hoping perhaps that this one would be different. Ron’s handwriting was as large and scrawling as usual.

_Harry—_

_Hope you’re doing okay. You sounded happier in your last letter._

_Mad what’s going on, right? Did you get the Ministry pamphlets about protecting yourself? Mum’s read them out to us so many times we know them off by heart. I’ve never seen her so manic. She’s got us all on curfews!_

_Can’t wait till you can get here. Fred and George are at their flat in Diagon Alley all the time so they’re not here often, and Bill’s too occupied with Fleur (did I tell you they’re engaged now?) so I’m bored stiff. Hermione’s coming next week sometime I think, so maybe you can come then as well?_

_Anyway, big thing I wanted to say was about Quidditch. I don’t know how up to date you are with the European Championship that’s been going on, but England made it to the final! I know, I was shocked too. One of the players is even from the Chudley Cannons! They weren’t sure if the final was going to go ahead with everything that’s happened, but it looks like it is. It’s being held in Ireland so maybe they think it’s safer from You-Know-Who there (though we all remember what happened last time there was a big Quidditch match). You remember how I said Dad couldn’t get tickets this year? Well, he’s been promoted and he’s got a bit more influence now and managed to get some! You’re welcome to come with us again. The final’s on your birthday—how great would that be? And I won’t have to get you a present. Ha!_

_Anyway, write back and say if you can come or not. With all the Dark stuff going on I think we’d all like to have a break._

_See you soon,_

_Ron_

Harry read this through twice and then set it down, coming to back down on his bed. Quidditch. It seemed like such a normal thing to be doing after everything. Under normal circumstances, he’d be chomping at the bit to go. But now?

He sighed and read through the letter again. He wasn’t sure. As Ron said, the last Quidditch match he’d been to had been a bit of a disaster. It seemed like tempting fate to go again, especially now that Voldemort was out into the open. With thousands of wizards all in one place, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to cause mayhem.

As he read, he noticed another piece of paper in the envelope. He pulled it out and saw a clipping from the _Daily Prophet._ He himself had stopped reading it properly after finding nothing but depressing news, especially the recent reports of the deaths of Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance. He’d glossed over all mentions of the upcoming tournament, not finding any interest in it, remembering Ron mentioning it vaguely during their OWLs and expressing his annoyance at not being able to go.

The clipping was dated from a couple days ago.

_EUROPEAN CHAMPIONSHIP TO GO AHEAD_

_CONFIRMATION FROM IRISH MINISTER FOR MAGIC_

_It was confirmed late last night by representatives from the Irish Ministry of Magic that the one hundredth and third European Quidditch Championship final would be held as planned later this month, after Minister for Magic, Bernardus Hughes intervened personally in the matter. “Allowing these tragic events to stop us from having fun is letting evil win,” Minister Hughes said yesterday. “This competition has been the work of several years planning, and both teams have worked incredibly hard over the last few months to reach the final. Not to have the final would be a travesty.”_

_Ministry representatives were quick to assure sports fans that additional security is being put in place in preparation for the final, which is now scheduled to take place on 31 st July after being postponed to allow for a security review, and that there would be no repeat of the carnage of the Quidditch World Cup held in Britain two years ago. Both teams are said to have agreed to the new security measures and are eager to begin training after being kept on standby for the past week as the future of the match was held in doubt._

_England manager Theodoric Fowler, (known better to Quidditch fans as Theo “The Fouler” from his days as Puddlemere United Beater) was quoted as saying: “I don’t give a damn about Death Eaters or You-Know-Who. Quidditch is Quidditch. Nothing will stop us playing.” Swedish manager Helena Karlsson made no statement but snorted loudly when asked if she had any concerns about the safety of her team._

_Quidditch fans will be relieved to hear this news, and no doubt soon many thousands will be making their way to Ireland to cheer on the first British team to reach the European finals since 1892._

This article was headed with several photos of various players expected to take part in the final line-up, some of whom Harry recognised from his copy of _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland_ , which Hermione had given him a couple of years ago, and other articles from the last few years, including the one in flaming orange robes, who Harry deduced to be the Chudley Cannons player, having seen him several times on Ron’s extensive memorabilia. Next to them all was a photograph of the manager; a surly looking wizard with a somewhat squashed face.

Harry put this article beside the letter and hugged his knees to his chest as he considered what he should do. He sat thinking for a long time, hearing the Dursleys pulling away in their car after a while, possibly to go to the new theme park Harry had heard Dudley whining about the other day. None of them had bothered to tell Harry they were leaving.

The thought of doing something as fun as going to a Quidditch match was as daunting as it was reassuring. How could he get away with enjoying himself when people were dying?

He was thinking so intently he almost missed the sound of the doorbell ringing. He sat bolt upright, heart hammering before he calmed himself. A Death Eater wouldn’t ring the doorbell. Harry waited a few moments, hoping they’d go away; visitors to the Dursley household were never very welcome, and in any case, Aunt Petunia never let him answer the door. When it sounded again, he reluctantly slid off his bed and headed downstairs.

He paused before the door, steeling himself. His wand was stuck in his back pocket and his hand twitched towards it as he slowly pulled the door open and peered outside to see who could possibly want to visit the Dursleys. His jaw dropped open.

Standing on the front doorstep, dressed in muddy but expensive robes, was none other than Theodoric Fowler, the England manager Harry had only just finished reading about.

Fowler raised his eyebrow as Harry gaped at him. “Well, are you going to invite me in, Potter? Or will I have to stand outside all day?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! In Rowling's world, there are several hints which suggest that the entirety of Ireland is governed by the British Ministry of Magic, but I've ignored that for the purposes of this fic. I needed the match held in a predominately English speaking country in Europe, and Britain was out since it hosted the World Cup two years before. Therefore, there are two governments, but they are closely linked.


	2. A Proposal

Fowler seemed to be losing patience rapidly as Harry continued to stand in the doorway staring at him. He turned and looked meaningfully up the Muggle street.

“I suggest you let me in, Potter, unless you want to make your neighbours curious.”

“Right,” Harry said, pulling the door open wider and letting the man in, his head reeling. He glanced up and down the street, watching for any sign that the neighbouring Muggles had seen this strange looking man in robes entering the house; he knew the Dursleys would really lay into him later on if they found out he’d had a wizard in their house while they were away.

Fowler stepped inside, roughly wiped his feet on Aunt Petunia’s pristine doormat and walked without invitation straight to the living room. Harry shut the door and followed him nervously, wondering if he was making a huge mistake by allowing a perfect stranger into the house in the current climate. His hand hovered near his wand as he entered the living room to see the wizard had already made himself at home. Fowler seemed to notice his discomfort.

“Don’t worry, I’m not a Death Eater,” he grunted. “There’s Ministry folks guarding your house and they vetted me before they let me in. See?”

He thrust a crumpled scroll at Harry, which he unfurled and read:

_I, Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, certify that the bearer of this scroll, Theodoric Fowler, has passed all required security protocols._

Underneath, there was an official looking seal.

Harry looked up, about to express his doubt about the veracity of this document, when it burst into flames. He yelped and dropped it, leaving smouldering ashes staining the pristine carpet. Fowler nodded.

“Charm for security. Bursts into flame once it’s been read by the intended recipient.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. He supposed it could still be an elaborate ruse, but oddly, he felt reassured by the letter, though also a little disturbed that there were Aurors watching the house, even ones he trusted, like Kingsley. He sat down nervously on the edge of an armchair, realising it had been a long time since he’d been allowed to sit down in here. He began to be irrationally afraid Aunt Petunia would find out and couldn’t help but observe Fowler’s extremely muddy robes with a horrified eye that she’d be proud of.

“No one else here?”

“No, my aunt and uncle are out.”

Fowler was still staring at him, and it seemed as though he was scrutinising him carefully, his small beady eyes looking him up and down several times. Harry used this opportunity to examine the other wizard himself. He looked like he was in his mid-fifties, but retained a powerfully built frame, large and beefy, like Uncle Vernon without all the fat. It was obvious he had been a Beater; like Ludo Bagman, his nose looked as if it had been broken several times, giving his entire face a squashed looking appearance, much like a pug. He wrinkled his nose as he took in Harry’s appearance, looking almost as if he was trying to force his face back into its original shape.

“Light build, athletic enough,” he said, approvingly, “but a bit weedy looking. Need to get a bit of meat on your bones.”

“Uh,” Harry said, unsure how to respond to this. It wasn’t every day the manager of an international Quidditch team came to your house to criticise your appearance.

“Course, I haven’t explained why I’m here, have I?” Fowler said with a short humourless laugh. He stretched out a hand to Harry, one he now saw had fingers which looked bent badly out of shape. “Theo Fowler.”

Harry shook his hand, feeling it would be a bit redundant to introduce himself in return. He waited politely, wondering what on earth this man could want with him.

Fowler seemed to be in no hurry; he was still examining Harry like a prize bull at market. Apparently, he seemed satisfied.

“You been following the Quidditch news, Potter?” he asked suddenly.

“Uh, some of it,” Harry replied. “England’s in the final, three weeks today. My friend just wrote to invite me to go.”

Fowler sniffed, looking amused. “Might not be needed.” He leaned in a little closer, making Harry very uneasy; the sight of this strange man in Aunt Petunia’s living room sitting on her floral couch was a little unsettling. “How old are you, Potter?”

“Fifteen,” Harry replied, more bewildered than ever. “Sixteen the day of the final.”

“Good, good,” Fowler said, nodding to himself. “You heard about the accident?”

“Accident?”

“Poisoning,” Fowler said, beginning to scowl. “We beat France the other week and the French team sent the players a crate of special wine as a ‘goodwill’ gesture. Pah!” He spat the last word, making Harry even more anxious that Aunt Petunia would discover the man’s presence here. He felt as if her very spirit was watching with pursed lips. “Idiots for trusting them. There’s no goodwill when it comes to Quidditch.”

His mouth twisted unpleasantly as he recalled the incident. “Well, anyway. The wine was poisoned, as I could have told those drunken idiots if they’d had a single sensible bone in their body and waited to ask my opinion before getting absolutely legless. Most of the team only had a glass or two, but our Keeper and Seeker had three bottles each.”

“Are they okay?” Harry asked, feeling that this was the thing to say.

Fowler made another face. “They’ll be fine. They both turned bright orange and have been spewing up frogs on the hour every hour ever since. St. Mungo’s is working on the antidote, but they’re not optimistic and think they’ll just have to wait for it to wear off. They’ve both been declared unfit for the next month.”

“Oh,” Harry said, wondering why he was telling him this.

“Most of the reserve team threw back what was left over, so they’re all out for the count as well,” Fowler continued, glaring at the carpet, as though the faces of the offending players were embroidered there. “Leaves me in a tricky situation. Bloody saboteurs.”

Harry nodded, glancing at the door leading to the hall, hoping desperately that the Dursleys wouldn’t be returning anytime soon. He was getting very alarmed at how riled up this man was getting.

“I’ve got a Keeper,” Fowler said, though looking very unhappy about it. “He’s young and inexperienced but a good find. Plus, he was the only one on the reserve team not to touch the wine, so he’s got half a brain at least. What I’m needing is a Seeker.”

Harry felt a slow warmth beginning to creep over him. His mouth had suddenly gone dry. Fowler ploughed on.

“I’ve looked everywhere. Most of the other Seekers and reserves in the British and Irish Quidditch League aren’t English, and the ones that are abroad can’t get away. The five who _are_ English aren’t any good either. Two aren’t available at short notice, one’s still recovering from a bad Confundus Charm one of her fans put on her for missing the Snitch in her last match, one’s been banned from Ireland for inappropriate relations with a leprechaun and the other’s Galvin Gudgeon from the Chudley Cannons, the worst Seeker in the League. I’m in a pickle.”

Harry could barely move from where he was sitting rigidly on the armchair. He couldn’t be suggesting … surely not …

Fowler’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Harry. “I manage Puddlemere United,” he said, without any trace of pride. “And I’ve got a bloke on my reserve team who says he knows you. Oliver Wood.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat and licking his lips. “He was my Captain on the Gryffindor team.”

“He says you’re the best Seeker he’s ever seen,” Fowler said, a touch of accusation in his tone. “Better than Charlie Weasley. I tried to scout him, you know. Turned me down flat to go chasing dragons. If you’re better than him, you must be good.”

Harry shrugged awkwardly. He’d played against Charlie in friendly games at the Burrow a couple years ago, but he’d hardly been comparing playing styles at the time. “I couldn’t say.”

“Modesty won’t get you anywhere, Potter,” Fowler said, frowning. “You good, or not?”

“Um, yeah?” Harry said, entirely put on the spot. “I mean … I’ve been on the team since I was eleven and I was the youngest player in a century. We’ve won the Cup twice.”

“You ever failed to get the Snitch?”

Harry thought back. “Once. I was injured and put out the match.”

“Quickest capture?”

“Five minutes.”

“How old were you then?”

“Eleven. It was my second game.”

“Wood says you got put on the team by a teacher straight after your first flying lesson. That true?”

“Yes.”

Fowler raised an eyebrow, and actually looked impressed. “Not bad. Nothing wrong with a bit of natural talent. Something we can easily develop.”

“We?” Harry’s heart was now close to hammering straight out his chest.

Fowler rolled his eyes. “Wood didn’t say you were this slow on the uptake. I want you for the team, Potter.”

Harry let out a long breath. Hearing the words … it was surreal. He didn’t know what to say. This couldn’t possibly be happening.

“How?” he asked, half-thinking this was a big joke. “I’m too young, right?”

“You’ll be sixteen the day of the match, minimum age for the European Association of Quidditch,” Fowler said. “And you won’t be the only sixteen year old. The Keeper I mentioned is the same age. Sixteen year olds are usually only reserves, but we’re in a unique situation here.”

“But I’m not experienced enough—”

“Won every match you’ve played to completion? Playing since you were eleven?”

“That’s school games, though. This is different!” Harry’s head was thumping painfully as he began to panic. This was utterly ridiculous. “This is _international_ level Quidditch. I was at the World Cup a couple years ago; I can’t play on that level!”

“Who says?” Fowler grunted. “Putting the ‘international’ label on it is nothing more than pretentious. You’re a Seeker. You catch the Snitch. What does it matter if it’s a school Snitch or an _international_ one?”

“I haven’t played with the team before.” Harry thought back to the pictures he’d been looking at only an hour or so ago, the professional players with distinguished careers behind them, names which were spoken about at Hogwarts with an air of reverence. “I couldn’t fit in.”

“Seekers are solitary players anyway,” Fowler dismissed. “Not like a Chaser or a Beater. Get on your broom, catch the gold thing. It’s not hard.”

Harry was rapidly running out of arguments. The entire thing seemed crazy. The thought of him, _him,_ playing on an international platform in front of thousands like he’d seen at the World Cup. And to think, just a few hours ago he hadn’t even wanted to attend as a spectator!

Fowler was waiting, but it was apparent he was restless. He tapped his misshaped fingers on the arm of the sofa.

“This—,” Harry said, trying to rationalise things, “—this isn’t because of the whole ‘Chosen One’ thing in the papers, is it?”

Fowler looked insulted. “You think I’d let something as ridiculous as that influence me? I don’t care what superpowers you’ve got or whether you’re You-Know-Who’s downfall or not, all I care about is whether you can catch a Snitch! And you can, by all accounts. You’re an excellent flyer, at least.”

“And how do you know? You’ve never seen me!” Harry said suspiciously.

“Not true,” Fowler said bluntly. “I was on the Ministry delegation at the Triwizard Tournament, representing the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I saw you in the First Task. The way you flew around that dragon was exceptional. If you can catch a Snitch the way you went after that Golden Egg, I want you on my team.”

He looked at Harry, seeing that Harry still looked unbelieving. “I was going to come and try to catch a few games of yours last year before you got yourself banned. I was planning on contacting you anyway in your final year to try out for my team. I think you’ve got what it takes. The only question is: will you do it?”

Harry fell silent, suddenly flustered at having to make a decision. He was still trying to get his head around this. There was Dementor mist pressing up at the windows, reports of deaths were trickling in every day in the papers, there was a leaflet about what to do against Inferi up in his room and he was sitting here being asked if he wanted to play Quidditch for England. He wondered if he was still in the dreamlike haze he’d been in constantly since Sirius died. This was too good to be true.

“But it’s so soon,” Harry said, his one last argument dragged out of him. “Three weeks. It’s too soon, right?”

“Not if you work hard,” Fowler said, demeanour softening a little as he saw a change in Harry’s expression. “Everything’s paid for and we’ll train you up. I can have you in Ireland by the end of the week.”

Harry thought about it, seriously thought about it. It was an insane idea. It was reckless, foolish, everything which Harry normally tried to avoid, but somehow never seemed to. Hadn’t rushing into something like this without thinking been what led to Sirius dying?

Yet still, he couldn’t say no. In fact, despite all his arguments, the idea of a direct ‘no’ hadn’t occurred to him yet. A part of him, he wasn’t sure how large a part yet, wanted this. _Really_ wanted this.

“Can I—can I think about it?” Harry said, hardly able to believe he was saying the words.

Fowler nodded curtly. “You’ve got till Thursday,” he said. “I’d have to come get you Friday morning. And before you ask, it’s all been cleared with the Ministry. They weren’t happy to let their Chosen One leave the country, but they know it’ll be a morale booster. They’ll send security with you. Dumbledore approved as well when I asked him for his opinion on your skills. I’ll need your guardian’s permission too, but I can get that later.”

Harry nodded, head swimming. The idea of having to tell the Dursleys he’d been selected for an international sports team was a bizarre one.

Fowler stood up suddenly and Harry automatically followed suit. His legs felt quite shaky.

“Think quickly, Potter, and owl me the second you decide,” he said. “There’s a lot at stake here.” He looked Harry up and down again. “Have you ever really thought about what it would be _like_ , Potter? To play in front of thousands, to have them screaming your name? To have the chance to win glory like that on your own terms, not because of your famous name?”

Harry was taken back to two years previous at the World Cup when he’d lain in the Weasleys’ tent dreaming of himself walking out into a stadium like that one, the announcer’s voice shouting his name to a roaring crowd. A spark of excitement began to build inside him.

Fowler seemed to see that spark reflected in his eyes, and he nodded, a tiny hint of smile on his crooked mouth. “Good, keep thinking that way. This could be all you’re waiting for to change your life. And—” he said, face suddenly foul again, “—if you don’t say yes, we’ll have to play without a Seeker and probably lose. And I’ll be sure and tell the _Daily Prophet_ exactly why.”

“That’s not fair!”

Fowler scoffed loudly as he began to march towards the door. “It’s Quidditch, Potter. Everything’s fair!”

With a slam of a door, he was gone. Harry sank back down into the armchair feeling so dizzy he might have just travelled by Floo powder.

_What on earth?_


	3. Making the Decision

Hours after Fowler had left, Harry was still pacing around his bedroom trying to make sense of it all. Him? Play for England? He couldn’t believe it. Although his immediate instinct was to say yes, he was held back by all the sort of logical arguments he knew Hermione would be listing at him if she was here.

_This is professional Quidditch and you’ve never played against anyone like that!_ Yes, but it’s still just Quidditch, like Fowler said. He knew Quidditch, he was _good_ at it.

_You’re still at school!_ Yes, but so was Viktor Krum. He did it. He’ll be old enough come match time. And it’s only this one game.

_What if you lose?_ That’s just Quidditch. And he hardly thought blame would all lie with him having only joined the team three weeks before the game. He’d heard of the prowess of the Swedish Chasers. They’d _definitely_ lose if he didn’t play.

_What if you lose your nerve?_ Again, that’s just Quidditch. He’d never allowed fear or nerves to stop him before.

_What if this is a big plot to get you somewhere vulnerable for Voldemort to kill you?_ There was going to be loads of security, and Dumbledore had said it was okay!

_There was security at the World Cup too!_ Yeah, but all that had happened _after_ the match, and surely something had been learned from that?

_This is reckless!_

Harry stopped his pacing and began to consider that again. Yes, it was reckless. He was making a huge decision here, one which might impact on his safety, and possibly even his entire future. Although he wanted to be an Auror, he couldn’t deny he’d held a secret dream for a long time of playing professionally. A daydream perhaps, but an enduring one. How often had he wished it could be him when he remembered the excitement of the Ireland vs Bulgaria match? When was a chance like this going to come again?

He remembered the prophecy with a shudder. If things went badly, this might be the only chance he’d ever have. He could be dead in a year.

Sirius would want him to do it, Harry thought, as he started pacing again. His eyes fell on his unmade bed. He’d spent so long cooped up here, listless and languid, mourning his godfather, mourning the loss of innocence the prophecy had forced on him. Before this morning, he’d barely been able to find the energy to get up and brush his teeth.

Although it was painful, Harry forced himself to think of Sirius, of how he’d always encouraged Harry’s flying, sending him his Firebolt. Sirius had spent the last months of his life stuck in a house he hated. He wouldn’t want Harry to shut himself away and break down completely. He would’ve jumped at this chance.

_And that might have killed him._

Harry sighed and stopped pacing to look out the window. It was beginning to grow darker, and the Dursleys had been home for a couple of hours. He couldn’t deny that Sirius’s recklessness nature had been at least partially responsible for his death.

But was this the same? Harry was taking the time to stop and think about this. He wasn’t rushing in blindly like he had in June. The Ministry approved (though that was hardly reassuring), Dumbledore had approved … could this really be okay?

The spark of excitement which had been ignited in Fowler’s presence fanned into a full flame which roared into being in Harry’s chest. He had to do this. He was sick of this lifeless existence. How could he pass up a chance like this?

For the first time since the offer, Harry allowed himself to take stock of what Fowler had said about him, and he couldn’t stop himself grinning like an idiot. He’d heard of Fowler. He was a Quidditch legend after all; famous for pulling more fouls than any other player in British history yet still managing to take Puddlemere United to the top of the League four years in a row by his expertly timed Bludgers. That man had been _here_ , had been asking _him_ to be on his team.

He thought of what this might mean and found himself getting carried away in the elation of it all. The chance to play for his country in front of thousands of others at only sixteen years old. He was sure it must be a record of some sort. And this time, he’d be remembered for his skills, not for surviving something by accident when he was a baby.

Harry then thought of the look on Draco Malfoy’s face when he heard Harry had been chosen to play for England and the matter was settled once and for all.

Laughing aloud, he vaulted over his bed and pulled a scroll of parchment towards him to write his reply to Fowler, hand trembling with exhilaration. He wrote quickly and sealed up his letter, leaving it on his desk. He’d wait until tomorrow to post it; he thought he should probably have at least one night to think it over before sending it.

That sensible decision, however, was beginning to seem more and more silly as the night wore on. Hedwig swooped in at some point, and Harry sat staring between her and the letter for a long time.

To distract himself, he took the _Daily Prophet_ which had been delivered earlier and scoured it for references to the Cup final. He found that day’s article which told the story of the great poisoning and read it avidly, laughing as the _Daily Prophet_ began to speculate on who would replace the missing players. He flicked through more pages, and then took to the others which had been delivered over the last week, trying to learn as much as he could about this team and its members.

_My team_ , he thought with glee as he looked at the pictures of the Chasers zooming towards the goalposts in the quarter-finals against Croatia. _My fellow team members._

Eventually, unable to bear it any longer, he jumped from his bed and attached the letter to Hedwig’s leg, sending her flying out of the window into the inky black night. He watched her go with a dopey grin on his face.

He noticed after a moment, the neighbour in the house opposite was standing at her own window and watching him curiously. Laughing, he gave her a wave, too giddy to be embarrassed. She scowled and hastily drew her curtains, probably terrified of the inanely grinning teenager staring at her.

Harry sat at his table, feeling full of excited energy he didn’t know what to do with. The letter from Ron was still sitting on the table, and Harry read through it with a chuckle. He pulled another sheet of parchment closer and began to write.

_Hi Ron,_

_Yeah, I’m doing better. Loads better in fact. Keep an eye on the Daily Prophet the next couple of days if you want to know why!_

_Tell Bill and Fleur congratulations from me. I won’t be able to be at the Burrow for a while. Again, check the Daily Prophet!_

_I also won’t be able to come to the European Championship final with you. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the reason why …_

* * *

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia stared at him as though he’d grown an extra head. Dudley’s jaw could have hit the carpet.

Harry waited, too happy to be annoyed. He’d had a letter back from Fowler that morning expressing his delight (though in more restrained terms) at Harry’s acceptance and had sent on a whole bunch of legal documents and waivers to sign. Harry had religiously read through them all and signed what he could (though he had balked slightly at the one asking him to release the European Association of Quidditch of all responsibility in the event of his death) and all that remained now was to have his guardian countersign them, as required of all players under seventeen.

The Dursleys seemed too stunned to speak, and Harry pushed back the urge to rush them. If he wanted these documents signed, he’d have to be in their good books. Thus, the patient waiting.

Uncle Vernon recovered first.

“You— _you_ are playing for England?”

“In Quidditch, yes,” Harry said, reminding himself to stay civil. “It’s a sport in our world.”

“That’s the one you went to a couple years ago?”

Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised he had remembered. “Yes. That was the World Cup. This is the European Championships. I play it at school. The England team needs a substitute and I’ve been … uh, scouted.”

Uncle Vernon’s eyes were as round as they could be. He glanced at the other two Dursleys sitting by him on the sofa before looking back up at him standing before them.

“Since when have _you_ been good at sport? You’re as thin as a rake!”

Harry privately thought it was rich for Uncle Vernon to say anything about his weight when he and his son were as large as they were. And besides, he was hardly any thinner than Aunt Petunia was. It was the only family resemblance they shared.

“Being light is an advantage for the position I play,” he said calmly. “We have to be fast.”

“At running?” Uncle Vernon was incredulous, though why he should be was baffling; Harry had spent the better part of his childhood running from, and escaping, Dudley’s gang.

“No, flying.”

Uncle Vernon winced and Aunt Petunia gasped, as though Harry had said something very scandalous indeed. Dudley still looked astonished.

“Look, neither you nor I want to go into the details,” Harry said, finally cutting to the chase. “All I need from you are some signatures. It’s legal stuff to say I can play since I’m underage.”

Uncle Vernon started to look less shocked and smiled. “Oh, really? And if you don’t get these signatures, you don’t get to go?”

Harry nodded, staying polite as he could despite the urge to shout obscenities at him. Uncle Vernon chuckled.

“Well, now. Interesting that you need _our_ help. Freaks still know what’s owed to hard-working guardians, eh?” He looked up at Harry, rubbing his hands together. “And what’s in it for us? Footballers get paid ridiculous amounts of money for barely any work, is it the same for this Queerditch nonsense?”

“Quidditch,” Harry corrected before he could help himself. “And I don’t know about the money. I didn’t ask.”

Harry suddenly began to wonder if he _would_ get paid for his appearance. Not that he wanted or needed the money, but it was an interesting idea. Perhaps he could give more to Fred and George now their shop was open.

“Typical. No financial sense at all,” Uncle Vernon grumbled. “Well? I’m waiting to hear what I’ll get out of this.”

Harry restrained himself from glaring at his uncle with difficulty. “I’ll be leaving the house tomorrow and you won’t have to see me until next summer for starters,” he said. “Quidditch is a long game which could go on for weeks. It’s also incredibly dangerous, and the position I play gets fouled the most. People have even died during matches or disappeared for months. Chances are I could get seriously injured. I have been before.”

While this would put off any other reasonable guardian, Uncle Vernon perked up. “Let’s hope not,” he sneered nastily. “Do I get compensation if you do?”

“Yes,” Harry said sullenly, lifting one of the pieces of parchment. “Insurance pay out. Five hundred galleons for hospitalisation lasting longer than two nights. One thousand galleons if I die. Two thousand for permanent disability.”

“And one thousand galleons in normal money is—”

“About £5000,” Harry said, scowling. He’d known the Dursleys hated him, but this was low, even for Uncle Vernon.

Uncle Vernon seemed to consider the idea before turning to his wife. She looked disapproving, though if that was for the mercenary way Uncle Vernon was conducting the conversation or the amount of money he could not tell; he hardly thought it was out of concern for himself.

“Fine,” Uncle Vernon said, bristling his moustache. “I’ll sign your forms. But we want a percentage of the winnings. If you’re earning money, it’s time to pay back your bed and board.”

“You mean my cupboard and Dudley’s leftovers?” Harry couldn’t resist but throw back. Upon seeing the danger sign of Uncle Vernon’s face turning purple, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll give you something whenever I get it. I don’t care. Just sign the forms.”

Uncle Vernon grinned and hastily got up to search for a pen to sign the forms. Harry watched him, unable to even feel disappointed. Truly, he didn’t really care about the money, or the fact they cared so little for him. Let them have what they wanted. As long as they didn’t stop him going, he’d give them anything, including half his Gringott’s vault.

While Uncle Vernon was rooting around the kitchen drawers for a pen (completely ignoring Harry’s quill), Dudley turned to Harry, apparently now able to speak.

“Could you really die playing this game?”

“Not likely,” Harry said, confused at Dudley’s sudden interest. “No one’s died in years. But it is dangerous.”

“Then why do you play it?”

“Because it’s fun,” Harry shrugged, “and I’m good at it.”

Dudley stared. “Can’t believe you’ve been picked for an international team,” he said. “You were always picked last in PE at school.”

“And whose fault was that?” Harry asked pointedly, remembering the glares Dudley’s gang had made at anyone daring to show Harry any sort of friendship. Dudley had the grace to flush and look away.

Harry didn’t bother with him anymore. He wasn’t sure what Dudley meant by acting as though he cared for the first time, and he wasn’t interested in learning more. Aunt Petunia was still sitting there, the only one who had said nothing.

After a moment, she looked at him tremulously. “Don’t die,” she said, eyes hard as they fell on him. Just as Harry was beginning to feel shocked that she had any sort of interest in his wellbeing, she spoke again. “If you die, the protection on this house will end. And then we’ll all be exposed to those freaks that killed your parents. Don’t die.”

Before Harry could answer, she had stood up and stepped out of the room. Uncle Vernon came barging back through from the kitchen.

“Now, if you _do_ die, do we pay for the funeral or do they?”


	4. Travelling to Ireland

Harry had barely had a moment to think since Fowler had shown up back at the Dursley’s house and whisked him away to the Ministry of Magic in an official Ministry car bearing the logo of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Walking back into the Ministry Atrium had upset Harry more than he had expected, especially seeing the large gap where the Fountain of Magical Brethren had once stood, but fortunately, their time there was brief.

Fowler had steered him away from the bustling Atrium and into the lifts which led to the various floors, but not before a few photographers had managed to snap an image of the two of them walking side by side. Harry was still blinking after the flash of the bulbs as the lift descended deeper underground.

“Better get used to that,” Fowler chuckled. “This is your life from now on. Quidditch or no Quidditch. Your face will always be in the papers.”

Harry continued to ponder his words as they emerged onto Level 6 of the Ministry and was left deeply uncomfortable. He supposed it was only to be expected that he’d have to give up all notions of a private life, even if he’d said no to Fowler’s request. From the stares they’d received as they’d walked into the Atrium, Harry knew that like it or not, he was now the ‘Chosen One’.

Fowler steered him towards a door which read ‘Portkey Office’ and pushed their way inside. It was a relatively large room but seemed smaller due to the massive mound of tin cans, old boots, crisp packets, tyres and other rubbish which was taking up the majority of it. In front of this colossal pile were a row of plain desks at which beleaguered looking wizards and witches were sitting. Each one was examining a piece of apparent junk, running their wands over it several times before making some notes on their parchment and either chucking it onto a smaller pile beside the large one or Banishing it to an aperture in the wall which read: TRUE RUBBISH.

The entire operation looked efficient and deeply involved and no one looked up as they approached. Fowler cleared his throat in front of a middle-aged witch examining an empty bottle of brandy minutely.

“We need a Portkey to Ireland,” he said gruffly. “European Championships campsite.”

“Yeah, you and everyone else in the country,” she grumbled, still engaged in her perusal of the bottle, though Harry was unsure what she was looking at. “Can’t you see we’re busy? Have you _any_ idea how many Portkeys we still have to ….”

The witch trailed off as she finally looked up from her work. Her eyes almost popped out of her head, slowly moving from Fowler to Harry as though she couldn’t quite believe which one she was more shocked by seeing in front of her.

Fowler laughed, before leaning down on the desk to bring his face closer to hers. “I think we’ll take that Portkey now.”

She jumped up with a loud scraping of her chair. “Of course, Mr Fowler! Right away!”

The witch ran off towards the ‘good pile’ and began searching through it, taking her time to carefully select an object before examining it, and then casting it away and beginning again. Harry was fascinated; he’d had no idea Portkeys required so much thought. They’d always just looked like rubbish to him, and he’d seen Dumbledore create them with apparent ease.

As she searched, Harry noticed the other wizards and witches stopping their work to stare at them, a few whispering behind their hands to each other. Harry looked away and instead focused on the desk of the witch in front of him. A _Daily Prophet_ was lying there folded up under her notes, and Harry edged it out to read the headline: HARRY POTTER ACCEPTS OFFER TO JOIN ENGLAND TEAM. Underneath the headline was a picture of him from the Gryffindor Quidditch team last year, zoomed in on his face. He wasn’t quite sure how the paper had gotten hold of it.

He folded it back up, not wanting to read the article in case it made him any more nervous than he already was. Fowler noticed and nodded approvingly.

“Good, keep your head clear. The media is seldom your friend. Remember that.”

Harry wanted to hit back with his assurances that he was already acutely aware of this considering the media campaign against him last year but held himself back. No use in antagonising his new manager already.

The witch finally returned triumphantly with a rusty pair of garden shears. She laid the shears down on the table and waved her wand over it. “ _Portus_.”

The shears glowed golden for a moment before sitting there as innocently as before. Then, being careful not to touch the shears, the witch made some notes of a new sheet of parchment.

“Alright, let’s see,” she said, pushing her glasses further onto her nose. “ _Destination_ … County Cork, Ireland. _Departure …_ Portkey Office, Ministry of Magic, London. _Date of departure …_ 12th July 1996. _Time of departure_ … 8:53am. _Individuals …_ Theodoric Fowler and Harry Potter …”

The witch continued to mutter to herself for a few more minutes, during which time Harry wondered whether they were going to make their scheduled departure date of 8:53 when the huge clock behind him told him it was 8:52 already.

Finally finished, the witch signed the form with a flourish and stamped it with a large purple stamper. She gestured for the two wizards to grab hold of the shears. Harry did so, not looking forward to the unpleasant sensation of the Portkey.

Behind him, the second hand struck twelve and before he was whisked out of sight by a jerking feeling behind his navel, he heard the witch and her colleagues shout:

“Good luck!”

After the effects of crushing darkness and giddiness, Harry felt himself slam into the ground hard and had to breathe heavily for a moment. Beside him, Fowler had already recovered and leapt to his feet.

“Come on, Potter. How you supposed to handle Bludgers if a Portkey leaves you winded?”

Scowling, Harry pushed himself to his feet, determined not to make Fowler regret his decision. Once feeling steady, he looked around. It was much like the campsite he’d been at previously for the World Cup; a veritable sea of tents surrounded them in all directions, criss-crossing a rather bleak looking moor. By contrast however, the vast majority of these tents had not yet been constructed, with only a few rising above ground; most had been laid flat on the earth with little signs denoting who they belonged to. It was apparent most spectators had not yet arrived. It had the eerie effect of making Harry feel like he had been plonked right in the middle of the ocean with nothing but space on all sides. The few tents which _were_ standing made him feel uneasy. These people had already arrived to see him play Quidditch, and he hadn’t even met the rest of the team yet. He began to wonder once again if he’d been too hasty in agreeing to this.

“Come on,” Fowler gestured, getting Harry to follow him off on a path through the tents in the vague direction of a sprawling forest. “The stadium’s through the woods there, but the Players’ Lodge is over this way.”

Harry said nothing as they walked through the flat campsite, glancing at the little signposts to see if he recognised any names, wondering if the Weasleys’ tents from two years ago would be here. At the very edge of the campsite, the ground fell away to reveal a dip in the moor which was fairly steep. Harry scrambled down it with Fowler, catching his feet a couple of times on a hidden rock or rabbit hole.

Fowler led him on a circuitous route across the moor which brought them back around towards the forest, and Harry was now able to see a large building constructed up against the edges of the trees, out of sight of the main campsite. It was about the size of a large manor house and just as fancy looking. Inside tall perimeter walls, it had extensive perfectly manicured gardens surrounding it filled with little fountains spilling water which changed colour as you looked at it and a whole variety of plants and flowers Harry recognised from his Herbology lessons as being exceptionally rare. It looked idyllic, like some sort of exclusive spa resort.

“That’s the Players’ Lodge,” Fowler said, as they found the path which led up to a magnificent set of golden gates. “It’s where you’ll eat, sleep, socialise etc. while you’re here. But don’t mistake it for some sort of hotel like the last players did. Be on your guard. The England players are in the east wing, but the Swedes are in the west. We don’t cross over as a rule—we have completely separate facilities – but I wouldn’t trust them an inch. Not Helena Karlsson’s team. Watch yourself.”

Harry nodded, taking all this in as best as he could. So far, it didn’t sound much different from Hogwarts and the extra vigilance all players (especially Gryffindors and Slytherins) needed to have in the lead up to a match.

At the gate, outside a small guard post, a wizard in official looking emerald robes was standing watch and raised his eyebrows as they approached.

“You got him then?” said the wizard, who was now clearly Irish judging by his accent, looking at Harry. “Did you even try him out before hiring him? Or was the name enough?”

“Mind your own business, Kane,” Fowler growled. “Or should I remind you that _your_ team failed to qualify?”

Kane’s mouth twitched. “We’re the reigning world champions, Fowler. What use do we have for petty European tussles?”

“Just let us in, you overgrown leprechaun,” Fowler said, and Kane sighed and shook his head.

“So rude, Fowler.”

He waved something which Harry remembered as being a Probity Probe over the two of them. He then examined their wands in the same way that had been done at the Ministry last year at Harry’s hearing. Kane watched Harry closely as he did this; for all his pretended disinterest, he was clearly very intrigued by Harry. Finally, he gave Harry a small emerald bracelet from which hung a tiny charm which looked like some sort of government logo.

“Keep that on your wrist at all times,” he said to Harry. He tightened it around Harry’s wrist and the leather bracelet seemed to meld perfectly to his skin and grow warm for a brief second. “Once on, only I or you can remove it. It’ll grant you entry to all areas available to players. Try and go somewhere you don’t have permission to be and it’ll tighten until it squeezes your whole hand off unless you leave the area. If you take it off when beyond these gates or in the stadium itself the enchantments around the place will start to affect you.”

“Uh, affect me how?” Harry asked, glancing apprehensively at the bracelet.

“I’m not sure,” Kane said lightly, “we’ve never tested it. Won’t be pretty though. So don’t take it off.”

Fowler was getting impatient again and glanced at his watch. “Can we be getting on?”

“Of course,” Kane said, though he seemed to be at perfect liberty as he tapped his wand to the shining golden double gates to make them open at an excruciatingly slow pace. “What about your friends?”

“What—” Harry started, but as he turned around he jumped as he saw three tall wizards standing behind them, all wearing extremely serious expressions.

“They’ve already got clearance, but they’re not needed right now,” Fowler said, ignoring Harry’s shock. “They’ll be patrolling the perimeter, as well as the stadium and the path through the woods, among other areas.”

“Something wrong with us Irish Aurors?” Kane asked, glowering at the wizard closest. “Isn’t our security enough?”

“This has already been negotiated with our governments so don’t get your shamrocks in a twist,” Fowler scowled, still waiting on the monumental gates opening. “This is the Boy Who Lived. You-Know-Who tried to kill him a month ago. You want to take any chances?”

Kane just huffed. Harry glanced back at the British Aurors, unnerved that they’d somehow managed to stay hidden as he saw no sign of any Invisibility Cloaks. Knowing that he’d been being followed was unsettling, and he felt a little guilt at putting so much extra stress on the governments involved. Coming had perhaps been a worse idea than he’d thought.

“Just hope they can look after your team better than you did!” Kane called as they finally made their way through the gates and began to trek up the long path to the Lodge. “Imagine, the great English Quidditch team defeated by _alcohol_ of all things. Who ever saw _that_ coming?”

For a moment, Harry thought Fowler was going to turn around and hex Kane, but he somehow restrained himself.

“He’s a sarcastic git,” Fowler told him as they passed by ornamental gardens and statues of prancing centaurs and hippogriffs leading up to the entrance. “We went to Hogwarts together and played as Beaters for our House. Never got over the fact I was selected for Puddlemere Utd and he wasn’t. Stay away.”

Again, Harry nodded, wondering if Fowler was going to tell him to stay away from everybody. It seemed like that was the sort of man he was; fixed minded, fanatical about Quidditch. He could easily see how he and Oliver Wood could get along.

Before long they were heading inside the luxurious building, and Harry was awed by just how extravagant everything was, from the real life fairy lights in the lobby, to the sweeping staircases leading to the upper level festooned with garlands of ivy which seemed to be singing softly. A few Irish Ministry officials walked here and there, recognisable by their emerald green robes and the logo in the centre which matched the one on Harry’s bracelet. Each one looked as harried as Harry remembered the British officials looking two years ago as they raced up and down on the path before the Weasleys’ tent. There were also a few house-elves milling around carrying towels, glasses of various drinks and bottles of expensive looking substances. Harry could indeed imagine he was in some sort of hotel.

“Swedes are that way,” Fowler said pointing towards the staircase above which the blue and yellow of the Swedish flag was draped, “and we’re this way. Come on—the players will be still in the recreation room. I’ll introduce you.”

Harry felt a flutter of excitement and almost suffocating nerves as he said this, but obediently followed as Fowler led him to the staircase underneath the red and white banners. The first floor was as opulent as the ground floor, and Harry lost count of the various rooms they passed and how many turns they took. Out of the windows on one side, Harry could see the dark trees of the forest, but beyond that there was a dull sort of golden light emanating from a point somewhere in the distance. _The stadium_ , he realised, and his nerves increased so much he thought he might be sick.

Fowler stopped in front of a door which stretched from floor to ceiling and from which various voices could be heard emanating. He looked at Harry over his shoulder.

“If you’re nervous, forget about it,” he said bluntly. “This is your team, so get used to it. There’s no time to be starstruck or anxious, you get me? We’ve a Championship to win.”

Harry nodded, liking Fowler less and less the more he saw of him, yet grudgingly admiring his dedication, if not his compassion. Fowler pushed the door open and Harry followed him inside, trying to do as asked and forget his nerves.

However, the moment he saw the assembled players, each one a recognisable face, they came flooding back.


	5. Meeting the Team

The recreation room looked like a more elaborate version of the Gryffindor common room. Like the common room, it was filled with a copious amount of comfortable (though expensive) looking armchairs and sofas and had a warm, cosy atmosphere, with various tapestries and portraits lining the walls. Unlike the common room, however, it was about three times the size, had stacks of bookshelves on one wall, tables set up for wizards’ chess, a table tennis table (with a ball which floated in mid-air), large cushions and blankets for snuggling up with before the fire, a radio, a selection of newspapers and a small kitchen/bar area, where there were rows of multi-coloured bottles lined up neatly and huge bowls of fruit looking deliciously tempting.

Harry didn’t immediately see all this however, for he was far more interested in the five people sitting on the chairs around the fireplace. They all looked up as Fowler and Harry entered, and Harry immediately felt his palms begin to sweat.

“Right, team, I told you I’d get him,” Fowler said bracingly. “Here he is: Harry Potter. Our new Seeker.”

The team stared, though if it was in awe, distrust or confusion, Harry couldn’t be sure. He stood there awkwardly, wondering if he should say something. He felt exactly as he had done when Ludo Bagman had introduced him to Krum, Fleur and Cedric as the Fourth Champion after his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire; awkward and inferior.

“Potter, this is Emmeline Sanderson, Chaser, from the Holyhead Harpies,” Fowler said, seeing that no one was about to talk. He gestured to a woman in the nearest armchair. Harry recognised her straight away from posters that adorned the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory at Hogwarts. She had the reputation of being the most admired female player in the country, loved just as much for her looks as her talent, both of which were considerable. Up close, Harry could certainly appreciate why; she was exceptionally tall, with a graceful frame and shining blonde hair, and a face which looked like it smiled often. At the moment though, she was frowning slightly. She nodded her head to him politely.

“Rebecca Haynes, Chaser, from the Wimbourne Wasps.”

Haynes smiled at Harry and he smiled back. Like him, she wore round glasses, and was constantly pushing them back up her nose. She was smaller than Sanderson but looked just as athletic.

“Our last Chaser, Nathaniel Watson, also of the Wimbourne Wasps.”

Watson grinned at Harry. He sat very close to Haynes. He ruffled his hand through dreadlocked hair before lifting it in greeting. Harry tentatively began to like him.

“Beater Elias Parker from the Chudley Cannons.”

Parker was large and thickset, but appeared friendly enough, nodding to him. Harry made a mental note later on to get his autograph for Ron.

“And finally, Aardash Khatri, our last Beater from the Falmouth Falcons.”

Khatri, like Watson, offered him a big smile. He looked at Harry eagerly, eyes flicking up to the scar and leaning forwards eagerly.

Fowler looked around the room a moment before frowning. “Isn’t Turner here?”

“Nah, he’s off by himself, as usual,” Watson said, shrugging. “We left him to it.”

“He should be here to meet the new team member,” Fowler said, scowling. “I told you all to be here.”

“Take it up with him. We can’t force him to join the rest of us. He’s a bit odd that one—”

“Enough,” Fowler said. He looked to Harry. “Evander Turner is our Keeper,” he explained. “He’s on the reserve team for the Appleby Arrows. I’d have preferred he be here, but it doesn’t matter. You’ll see him later on anyway. You two are sharing a room.”

“Yeah, and remind us again why that is?” Khatri pouted, looking up at Fowler. “Look at the size of this place! If I share with Nate and Elias another night, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“I don’t believe in letting your heads get turned by all this luxury,” Fowler said, glancing to a large box of chocolates lying open on the table in front of the players and some scattered sweet wrappers. “I prefer my players to share rooms. This is a serious endeavour.”

“Yeah, he’s cheerful like that,” Khatri said, winking at Harry. “You found that out already, right?”

Harry wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not, but Fowler started frowning.

“I want my team members to bond.”

“Like they need it,” Khatri said, rolling his eyes and jerking his head towards Watson and Haynes, who Harry now realised were holding hands. “Besides, we all went to school together. You’re looking at a merged Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw team here.”

“You’re Gryffindor though, right?” Haynes asked, smiling at Harry. “My little cousin’s on the current Hufflepuff team. She says she’s played against you before. Said you’re really good.”

“Uh, thanks,” Harry said, blushing a little at having such a legendary Chaser compliment him.

“Good or not, is he professional standard?” Sanderson said, her frown still prominent. She took her eyes off Fowler to look at Harry. “No offence, I’m sure you’re good for Hogwarts level Quidditch. But you’re, what, fifteen? We’ve worked so hard for this for months. It isn’t as easy as waltzing in and playing against some other teenagers. Last month we played three games against some of the best players in the world. What were _you_ doing?”

Some of the others frowned at her, and Harry’s heart sank, but he looked back with as much resolve as he could, standing his ground.

“Last month? I was fighting off Death Eaters and coming face-to-face with Voldemort,” he said quietly, making several of them wince at the sound of the name. “I’m tougher than I look. Even if I am fifteen.”

There was a temporary moment of deafening silence before Fowler laughed sharply and clapped him on the back so hard Harry almost went flying into the nearest sofa.

“You’ll fit in around here, boy,” he said. “Keep that attitude up.” He turned to the other players. “I realise playing alongside two sixteen year olds during the final isn’t what you expected, nor is it ideal. But it’s the situation we’ve been left with. Make the best of it. All of you. _And_ ,” he said, looking to Sanderson, “while there aren’t any other Seekers to find, there’s plenty of Chasers I can get hold of if you’ve got a problem with it.”

Sanderson flushed, but did not argue.

Fowler looked pleased. “Right, I’ve got work to do,” he announced. “Potter, stay here for a while. Rest of you, fill him in on what he needs to know. Training session is at two, but I want him there for half one so I can evaluate him. Make sure he’s ready.”

With that, Fowler departed, leaving Harry a little worried at what he meant by ‘evaluate him’.

Harry remained where he was, a bit unsure if he should sit with the rest of the team. Khatri solved his dilemma for him by shifting up and leaving a space for him on the sofa. Harry sat down gratefully, looking around at the faces peering at him in interest.

“Nice to finally meet the Boy Who Lived,” Khatri joked, nudging him in the ribs. “Bet you hate that, right?”

Harry laughed. “You have no idea.”

“Well, get used to it,” Khatri said, “we’ve all got annoying nicknames like that. But we won’t use it if you don’t use ours. And forget all the surname stuff as well, no matter what Fowler calls us. When you have commentators shouting your surname all the time it can start to feel a bit depersonalised. I’ll call you Harry if you call me Aardash, or even just Dash.”

“Right,” Harry said, starting to grin.

Aardash grinned back and pointed at the others. “Nate, not Watson,” he said, making the other Chaser wave. “Becca, not Haynes, and Emmy, not Sanderson. We haven’t got a name for Elias yet. Doesn’t like Ellie or Ass.”

“Who would?” Elias said, speaking in a very soft voice which contrasted with his size, rolling his eyes, but not looking insulted. He smiled at Harry. “You know Bill Weasley, right? And Charlie? They were below us at school. Charlie was a great player.”

“Yeah, how do you—”

“Ran into Bill in Gringotts last month,” he said, shrugging. “It’s taking forever to get gold out at the moment, and he helped me out. He mentioned you. We weren’t really all that friendly, with him being in Gryffindor and me in Hufflepuff, but I liked him well enough.”

Harry was beginning to relax now, seeing his chance to get in with the team and stop feeling like such an outsider. “Yeah, he’s engaged now. To Fleur Delacour, the Triwizard Champion from Beauxbatons. I’m best friends with his brother Ron. He’s a huge Cannons fan. He’ll be beside himself when he finds out I’m here with you.”

Nate snorted. “Cannons fan? And you’re friends with this bloke?”

Elias turned his head and tutted at Nate. “Now, now, don’t be mean about my fans.”

“Come on, Elias. You’re the only one on that team with even a hint of talent! Or a brain.”

“Why, thank you,” Elias said, bowing his head humbly. “But I’ll thank you even more not to insult my team members. While we may be … ahem, a little professionally challenged, they’re the team I’ve followed all my life. I wouldn’t play anywhere else.”

“I think it’s sweet he’s so loyal,” Becca interjected, before Nate could laugh again. Nate glanced at her and softened immediately, smiling at her.

“They’re bonkers about each other,” Aardash whispered to Harry. “Don’t worry if they never notice your presence.”

“So, if you’re really good at Quidditch, tell us about it,” Emmy Sanderson said to him, the only one who was still watching him with anything like unfriendliness. “You’re going into sixth year right? How many times have you won the House Cup?”

“Twice,” Harry said, still a little uncomfortable under her intense gaze. “I’ve been on the team since first year. Didn’t win that year because I was in the Hospital Wing for the final. Second year the competition was cancelled. Won in third year, which was the only year I missed the Snitch; Dementors invaded the pitch and I fell from my broom. Quidditch wasn’t on during fourth year because of Triwizard, and we won last year, but I only played one match because Umbridge banned me.”

Emmy wasn’t looking too impressed yet, but she was nodding. “Playing since you were eleven? You’re used to setting records then. I’ll keep an eye out for Dementors.”

“Leave him alone Emmy,” Aardash said, frowning. “You haven’t even seen him fly yet. Don’t mind her,” he said, looking apologetically at Harry. “She cares more about winning than she does making friends.”

“This could _make_ my career, Dash—”

“Anyway,” Becca said, cutting over the top of Emmy’s indignant retort. “Let us fill you in a bit about life here.”

“Yeah,” Nate said, immediately following his girlfriend’s lead. “It’s great here. So luxurious! This is the rec room where we spend most of our free time when not training or eating. There’s a dining room along the hall with an attached kitchen if you want to make anything yourself. The house-elves will make you anything you ask for though. I’m guessing you won’t be able to cook with magic.”

“There’s loads of other rooms,” Becca said. “There’s a library, a pool, a gym and a spa if you’re interested, as well as a medical centre. We’ve pretty much got free rein of this floor. The other areas are for staff and officials.”

“The Swedish team get the pitch to train on in the mornings, and we get the afternoons,” Aardash told him. “It was flip of a coin, and it’s probably better for us, considering the match will be in the evening. Good for predicting where the sun will be, you know.”

“Training is from two until seven every day,” Elias said. “Then we come back here and have a strategy meeting. Then Fowler has us spend some time in the gym before turning in.”

“It’s not as glamourous as it sounds in the papers though,” Aardash said, sighing dramatically. “Mornings are dull as anything. Glad you’re here to be honest. I’m sick of these idiots and their ugly mugs. Hope you’ll tell me all kinds of juicy stories. Did you really once dodge around a Hungarian Horntail on a Firebolt?”

Harry began to relax even further as both Nate and Aardash plied him with questions about the Triwizard Tournament and his previous Quidditch matches. Becca too seemed curious, and Elias, though he was quieter, listened with interest. Only Emmy still hadn’t softened towards him. Her lips were pursed the entire time in an uncanny imitation of Aunt Petunia.

After a while, Aardash suggested showing him around, and Harry rose to follow him. The Beater showed him all along the first floor, pointing out the previously mentioned rooms to him, each of which looked more luxurious than the last, before leading him to the far end of the corridor.

“These are the sleeping quarters,” he explained. He pointed to the first door. “This one’s Fowler’s, so don’t even think about sneaking out at night unless you can get past him and his anti-trespass jinxes. He’s one of those ‘eight solid hours a night’ folk.” They continued on down the corridor. “Me, Nate and Elias are in here, which as I’m sure you can guess is a bundle of laughs, and Becca and Emmy are on the opposite side. You and Evan are in the end room.”

He pushed the door open to reveal a room at least the size of the Gryffindor dormitory, with two elaborate beds pushed up against opposite walls. One was strewn with a couple books and some Keeper’s gloves, while the other was untouched. To his surprise, Harry’s trunk, which he hadn’t seen since that morning as it was being loaded into the Ministry car at Privet Drive, had arrived, and was at the end of his bed. The only thing absent was Hedwig, though her cage was sitting on a desk nearby.

Harry looked around, feeling suddenly that everything was becoming very real. His panic must have shown on his face, because Aardash clapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” he said. “Fowler doesn’t get human emotions like the rest of us, but we’re all nervous in our own ways, in spite of what he says. Can’t be easy coming into it like this either. Just don’t take Emmy too seriously. She’s actually a lot of fun. She’s just concerned. We haven’t trained with you yet, and Evan was only a reserve till last week so none of us know him all that well either. It’ll all be okay in the end.”

Harry hoped he could come to believe him. Seeing all these other players, all of whom were at least ten years older than him was more than a little daunting. He wondered how many more people as dismissive as Emmy and the Auror on the gate there would be.

“Hey kid, if you can survive You-Know-Who, you can survive a game of Quidditch,” Aardash said with a laugh. “We’re a team, remember that. I happen to think you’re dead brave even coming here. Keep your spirits up, and if you need anything, I’m just down the hall.”

Harry thanked him and Aardash left him to settle in, shooting him another reassuring smile. Harry crossed over to what he guessed was his bed and sat down, sinking deep into the plush mattress. He tried to keep in mind everything Aardash had said, but his entire brain was whirring faster than a Time Turner. It was beginning to cause a pounding in his temple. He was actually here. He was part of the England National Quidditch Team.

Feeling like he needed some fresh air, Harry went to the bay windows and propped open one of them to let in a cooling breeze. This room offered a clear view of the ornamental gardens below, all meticulously trimmed and tended to with evident love and care. There would be no chance of garden gnomes here.

At the far end of the gardens where they met the perimeter wall, there was another gate, smaller than the ones leading up to the Lodge, forged of bright silver. This gate led out to a path which sneaked off into the darkness of the trees beyond. Harry wondered if this was the path which led to the stadium.

Harry breathed in and exhaled loudly, fogging up the glass in front of him. His first training session was only a couple of hours away, and either he’d impress, or he’d be exposed as what he really was: a school-level Quidditch player. He found himself curious for the first time about this other teenage player, this Evander Turner. How had _he_ managed to get on the team, even as a reserve? Harry was certain there was no one of his name at Hogwarts, despite the fact they must surely be in the same year judging by their ages. Did he perhaps go to another wizarding school?

As he pondered this, his attention was drawn by a gold flash in the corner of his eye. Harry turned his head and saw a figure sitting down in the gardens in the shadow of the immense trees which lined the perimeter wall. He, for it seemed like a he, was sitting cross-legged under the spreading branches of an oak tree, propped up against the trunk with eyes closed.

Harry frowned and leaned in, squinting as he tried to get a better look, intrigued by this unusual sight. The figure did not appear to be asleep, but was sitting upright, hands placed lightly on the knees, almost as if he were mediating. He was unable to see details at this distance, but he could tell that the figure had a brownish blond hair which was catching the light of the mid-morning sun. He appeared young. Watching him seemed to bring a sense of calm over Harry, and he forgot his anxieties for a moment. The figure was so still, so peaceful …

As Harry watched, the figure’s eyes suddenly snapped open. They cast their gaze around the garden, frowning slightly at the sudden onslaught of sunlight. Then, without warning, they looked up to the room Harry was in. Their eyes met.

Harry immediately withdrew his gaze, turning away from the window and moving back to his bed, suddenly embarrassed at being caught staring. This must be the Keeper he had yet to meet.

Harry glanced over at the other bed, suddenly apprehensive at meeting this seemingly solitary other player.

His nerves were back in full force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Sorry if there are a bit too many names and characters being introduced all at once. There are plenty of chapters featuring them to get to know them a little.


	6. First Practice

Fowler came for Harry at quarter past one, arms filled with a pile of robes.

“Training gear,” he said, shoving them at Harry. “They were for your predecessor, and he was a bit taller than you, but they should fit well enough. We’ll get you kitted out properly tomorrow.”

Harry had quickly dressed in the robes, which were of a deep maroon colour with the England logo of three dragons displayed across the breast. The name on the back read ‘Williams’, but Fowler quickly swiped his wand over this to make the letters vanish. He did not replace them with Harry’s own name, which put him on edge slightly. He had the distinct sense Fowler was still testing him and could send him home by the next portkey if he didn’t measure up.

Fetching his Firebolt, he followed Fowler down the staircase and out into the gardens towards the silver gate leading to the woods. Fowler held out his hand as they walked, motioning for Harry to pass over his broom. He examined it as they walked. As they reached the silver gate, Fowler did not stop walking, instead, passing through it as easily as Harry passed though the barriers at King’s Cross to reach Platform 9 ¾.

Harry joined him a moment later, taking a sharp intake of breath when a coldness seeped through his body as he passed through.

“Don’t try that without a security bracelet,” Fowler said, shaking the emerald leather bracelet on his own wrist at him. “You’ll instantly disintegrate.”

Fowler continued to run his hand up and down the Firebolt as they headed off into the trees, eyes fixed on it and miraculously able to avoid all twigs and holes which littered the path, not one to waste even a moment on anything non-Quidditch related. He had either walked this path too many times or simply didn’t care for his own safety.

“How long you had this, Potter?”

“About two and a half years.”

He nodded. “It’s still in good nick. You look after it well. I’m not one for all the latest broomstick fads—a broom’s only as good as the bloke riding it— but this is a good make. Most of the team are only on Nimbus 2001s. But speed is best for a Seeker. I’ll get one of the broomstick technicians to check it out tomorrow morning, but it looks good to me.”

Harry took it back gratefully. He’d hoped he’d be allowed to ride his own broom. It was a piece of Sirius, and he wanted to keep it close. It was almost as if his godfather was by his side, helping him not to completely break down with nerves.

Before long, the path opened out and Harry saw the stadium for the first time, coming to a complete stop to stand and stare at it. It was not quite as large as the one built for the World Cup but could still comfortably hold several tens of thousands of spectators. It too gave off a soft golden light, as if it held the glow of a million candles. He had to crane his neck to look at the tallest stands.

Unfazed by the sight of the stadium, Fowler had already gone ahead to the players’ entrance. Outside were two Irish Aurors. Both raised their eyebrows when they saw Harry but said nothing. Fowler held out his security bracelet and Harry followed suit as the Aurors waved their wands over them, making them emit a soft trilling sound. They nodded for them to enter.

Inside there was a maze of corridors with various signs dotted on the walls in multiple languages pointing to ‘Players’ Lounge’, ‘Changing Rooms’, ‘Cafeteria’ and ‘Press Room’. Fowler took Harry along the corridor marked ‘Pitch’.

They met no one as they followed the corridor, and Harry looked around in interest. Along the walls were photographs of various Quidditch teams over the years, all holding trophies of differing sizes. Harry stopped as he recognised the team at the end of the row just before a pair of double doors. It was the Irish National Team, lifting the World Cup high in the air. It was a photo from the Top Box, and Harry was surprised to see himself squashed into the corner of the photograph.

Fowler stopped with him.

“You were there?” he asked, unnecessarily. “What did you make of Aiden Lynch?”

Harry’s eyes crossed to the Irish Seeker, who was being supported between two other players after his two crashes.

“He was fast.”

Fowler snorted. “Yeah, about all as could be said about him. Not the greatest Seeker around. The Chasers carried that team. Krum was the true star of that match. You know him, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, as they began walking again. “Sort of.”

“Fantastic Seeker. If you bump into him, be sure and get tips.”

Harry didn’t reply to this, because they had then walked through the double doors and were now standing on the edge of the velvet pitch itself. It looked even bigger from the outside; Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if the entirety of Hogwarts could have fit inside it. Stands rose up almost vertically and showed tens of thousands of empty green chairs. The pitch itself was oval, and absolutely enormous, far larger than Hogwart’s own offering. The goalposts stretched high into the sky.

His awe must have shown on his face, because Fowler let out a sharp laugh. “Big bigger than Hogwarts’ pitch, eh? A _professional_ one.”

Harry nodded in agreement, wondering how on earth he was supposed to catch the Snitch in a space as vast as this one. He listened, a little dazed as Fowler walked him around the pitch and pointed out the various features, such as the mediwizard station, the players’ tunnel and the commentator’s box.

“Right then, let’s see you fly,” Fowler said suddenly. “Quick warm-up. A few laps.”

Harry climbed on his Firebolt, feeling suddenly pretty shy about his flying abilities. But as soon as he kicked off from the ground, his fears left him, entirely subsumed by the sheer delight of soaring through the air for the first time in ages thanks to Umbridge confiscating his broom back in November last year. He rose higher and zoomed around the pitch, the wind in his hair, robes flapping behind him. His heart felt fit to bursting as he accelerated, making sharp turn after sharp turn without slowing down, following the oval curve of the pitch. Why had he been nervous? This was the one thing he _knew_ he could do.

After his third lap, he noticed Fowler on the ground (who was nothing much more than a blur) raise his wand. The next thing he knew, small balls like golf balls were shooting through the air alongside him, darting in frantic patterns around him before dashing off to the furthest stretches of the pitch.

Harry got the unstated instruction. He raced after the balls, scooping each one up as quickly as he could and stuffing them into his pocket. He rose and dove, twisting and turning to fetch the last few troublesome balls, chasing them over the length of the pitch, before they too were in his pocket.

Elated, he turned back to Fowler and descended. To his surprise, Fowler was grinning; an odd looking expression on his squashed face which made him look even less friendly than normal.

“Good, good!” he said, clapping his hands together, still grinning maniacally. “Heaps of raw talent. Heaps! I can work with this.”

Harry couldn’t help but respond with a grin of his own.

Fowler ran him through a few more exercises and drills, the gleaming look in his eyes becoming ever more prominent. By the time the rest of the team showed up in their maroon robes clutching their own brooms, he was practically jumping for joy.

“What did you do to make him look like that?” Nate asked him as they joined Harry on the pitch.

“I flew.”

His eyes went wide. “You _must_ be good.”

Fowler went back into business mode, and began issuing instructions, sending Emmy and Becca off for the balls and getting Aardash and Elias to fetch their bats from the stores, while Nate got on his broom for a warm-up lap. After a moment, all who was left was the strange blond figure Harry had seen from his bedroom window.

“Harry Potter, Evander Turner,” Fowler said, introducing them. “Turner, why weren’t you there to meet Potter when he arrived?”

Turner frowned, looking genuinely confused. “I’m here now,” he said. “What’s an extra couple of hours?”

“When your manager tells you to do something, you do it, got it?” Fowler wasn’t quite glowering, but there was still an unspoken tension in the air.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Harry was now much closer to Turner than he’d been earlier that morning, and close up, he didn’t appear like much of a Keeper. Unlike the usual mould of broad and stocky Keepers, Turner was thin, and a touch taller than Harry, built far more like a Seeker. His hair appeared more brown than it had this morning in the sunlight, and curled slightly around his ears. His skin was deeply tanned, as though he hardly ever spent any time indoors, with a smattering of freckles across his nose. If Harry hadn’t known he was only sixteen, he would have thought he was far older, as there was a deep solemnity to his blue eyes. Harry found that he was staring at him, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Right, get up there for a practice lap. I want everyone on the usual warm-ups—”

Harry was torn away from staring at Turner as the rest of the team returned and they all took to the air, running through much the same level of warm-ups Harry had just been doing on his own. He couldn’t help but watch the rest of the team as they flew, admiring their fluidity and dexterity in the air, the Chasers in particular, who seemed to move as one.

More than any other, Turner drew his eye. Though on the surface he appeared entirely unlike the usual type of Quidditch player, he flew extremely well, so well in fact that Harry continued gaping at him. He seemed to move seamlessly through the air, as though he had no need of a broomstick to support him, and as he flew, a soft smile appeared on his lips, though he had been entirely stoic looking before leaving the ground.

After warming up, the balls were released, and Harry was left to truly marvel at the skill of the team around him. The Chasers were as fast as the Irish ones he had watched two years ago, and Turner barely missed a single shot. He had a most unusual Keeping style; unlike most of the other Keepers he’d seen, Turner did not circle the goalposts. Instead, he hovered in front of the central goal, as still as a cat about to pounce, staring unblinkingly at the approaching Chasers until moving at the last moment as quick as a flash, like a predator grabbing its prey. Harry was fascinated.

Fowler shouted that he was releasing the Snitch, and Harry drew his attention away from Turner and the others to focus on the tiny fluttering golden ball which he saw darting away from Fowler.

He was after the Snitch in a heartbeat, racing after it so fast the stadium blurred around him. He caught it within a few moments, and then released it, counting for a full minute to let it get a head start before going after it again.

Now that he’d given it a slight lead, it was much harder to locate, and he had to soar over the entire pitch several times, ducking and manoeuvring around the other players to search. As he had guessed, it was much harder than at Hogwarts, not least because the golden light of the stadium seemed to obscure the usual tell-tale gold flashes he was accustomed to relying on to locate it. He could only imagine it would be worse when the stands were filled with people flashing cameras and omniocular lenses at him.

 _Don’t panic_ , he told himself, as yet more time passed. _It’s the same process you’ve done a million times before. Just a bigger playing field._

After another ten minutes searching, he suddenly saw it lurking around the goals being manned by Turner and he dove for it, his chest filling up in excitement as he whooshed past Turner and headed for the ground.

His fingers clasped around the tiny ball and he rose triumphantly with it clenched in his hand. As he pulled up, he saw a couple other players grinning.

“Maybe Fowler wasn’t such an idiot to go after you,” Elias said, bringing his broom close. “You’re not half bad.”

“You’re joking, right? He’s brilliant!” Aardash had joined him on the other side, thumping Harry on the shoulder gently with his Beater’s bat. “Fifteen! And no professional training! You could be our secret weapon.”

The Chasers, who’d stopped play when Harry had dived right through the scoring area, also approached, nodding appreciatively, even Emmy.

“Twenty minute capture, not bad at all,” Becca said, smiling warmly. “But can you do it in three weeks with all these seats filled?”

Harry looked around, too elated to even feel nervous again. “You bet!”

The team laughed and Harry laughed along with them, feeling more like part of the team than he had before. The only one, however, who was not laughing was Turner, who was still hanging in front of the goalposts. He was staring fixedly at the ground, not having come forward like the others.

Despite himself, Harry could not help but feel a little annoyed. Did this boy resent him for something, or was he just simply unfriendly?

“Oi!”

Fowler, who by now had acquired a broom of his own, came soaring up towards them.

“Training’s not over yet, you gossiping gaggle of goblins! Sanderson, Haynes, Watson, get that Quaffle and practice your Zargoff formation and your Chsinski passes. Parker and Khatri, target practice with the Bludgers up the other end. Turner, back on the goals. Potter, come with me and I’ll run you through some Seeker drills you might not have tried before. Get moving!”

The rest of the team made a face but flew off to follow orders, while Harry trailed after Fowler. Before he left the scoring area, he couldn’t help but glance back at Turner, curious about the other boy.

By now, Turner had finally lifted his eyes, and had turned them on Harry, sending a jolt through his entire body. He regarded Harry with a blank expression, but with probing eyes, head tilted to one side, as though he was an object of some fascination. After a second, Harry tore his eyes away, heart beating uncomfortably fast.

What was it about this player that so intrigued him?


	7. Letters

Although it was officially named the Players’ Lodge, Harry quickly realised that the vast majority of the inhabitants of the building were representatives from either the Irish Ministry of Magic or the European Association of Quidditch, and dozens of them were bustling through the building at all hours of the day and night, making it difficult to get much sleep on his first night.

Training sessions every day, however, were so brutal that soon he found no problem in drifting off to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and before three days had passed, he had fallen into a sort of routine.

Every morning he’d wake and eat with the rest of the team in the opulent dining room, most meals being prepared by Elias who was a bit of a secret chef, and then would spend the mornings in the rec room or out walking in the gardens, sometimes sitting with a book on Quidditch strategy from the extensive library. Lunch would again be a team affair, and then their afternoon training would begin. Strategy meetings would drag on for a long time in the evenings, Fowler talking until Harry’s head was positively buzzing, before he insisted they all spent at least an hour in the gym before bed. Harry quickly discovered wizarding gyms were entirely different to what he’d seen of Muggle ones. Though he had never been in one, he was positive that the former did not have treadmills which screamed foul abuse at you if you slackened your pace, or dumbbells which magically expanded with every lift until it looked like there were two small boulders sitting on either end. Fowler had Harry working on developing his core strength to better allow him to maintain the almost horizontal crouching pose on a broom Seekers needed to achieve their fastest speeds, and after his first session, Harry could barely straighten up after using muscles he had never known he possessed.

Despite the hard work, Harry found he was greatly enjoying himself. The rest of the team was very cheerful and welcoming, Aardash and Nate in particular treating Harry like part of the family. Even Emmy was beginning to warm to him as she watched him in more training sessions, and he could tell she was grudgingly impressed. The only downer was Turner.

They shared a bedroom, but that was about all they had to do with each other. When they reached their room late at night, they both climbed under the covers without a word and fell asleep, and Turner was always first up in the morning, leaving before Harry was even dressed, spending all time they weren’t in team activities off on his own, usually in the gardens or the woods beyond the gate. He never said a word to him, though he caught him staring at him a couple of times, as he had on that first day. It unsettled him to have those eyes staring at him so intensely.

“Don’t worry about Evan,” Aardash said to him the fourth morning after Harry’s arrival when he mentioned it to him. “He’s like that with everyone. Doesn’t say a word unless someone says something to him first. But hey, as long as he flies good and doesn’t cause any problems, I’m okay with it.”

But Harry simply could not find himself to be okay with it. No matter how much Harry told himself to forget about him, Evander Turner just would not stop intriguing him. He wasn’t sure why, but perhaps because Turner was the only one to neither show any interest or any hostility to him since he arrived here. He was just entirely neutral, and Harry wanted to find out more about him. He thought about asking him about himself a couple of times, but something always held him back; Turner’s permanently stoic expression was not one which invited easy conversation.

The door to the rec room, where Harry and Aardash were sitting alone after just finishing a game of wizards’ chess, opened and Kane, the Irish Auror Harry had met on the first day, walked in, levitating some large stacks of parchment in front of him.

“Mail,” he said dully as he approached. “Because that’s what I got nine OWLs and five NEWTs for; to be a postman.”

“Mine?” Aardash asked eagerly, reaching for one of the piles. He then took a second, larger pile and deposited them both on the nearest table.

Kane turned to Harry.

“Sorry for the delay, but all the mail’s being read as a security feature,” he said. “It’ll only be about every five days or so. We’ve sorted it for you. This pile—” he gestured to the smaller one— “is what we think is from folk that actually know you. This one—” he pointed to the far larger one— “is fan mail.”

Harry gawped at the massive pile. “Fan mail?” Not once, with the exception of the intermediate aftermath of the _Quibbler_ article in March, had strangers written to him like this. “I haven’t even played yet!”

“Fans don’t care about stuff like that,” Kane said, rolling his eyes. “Most of it is just crazy witches sending you their pictures and wanting to go out with you and people desperate to know what happened when you fought You-Know-Who. Some are autograph requests and others are the genuine weirdos. Let me know if you want me to chuck it all in future—most of the other players don’t bother with it.”

“Not me!” Aardash said, opening letters with barely concealed glee. “I love it! Even the crazies.”

Harry laughed and took the piles to another clear table, sitting down before the two piles with a light-headed feeling. _Fan mail_.

He opened a few of the letters, seeing that Kane had told the truth and most were rambling nonsense with a few genuinely cheering letters from people offering their congratulations and best wishes. Although he knew he could never reply to them all, he had to smile as he read them, even the weird ones. Somehow, it made the thoughts of all those empty seats in the stadium seem less frightening to know he had this support.

After discarding the fan mail, he turned to the smaller pile, counting eight envelopes. He saw straight away that half bore Ron’s handwriting, one Hermione’s, one from what looked like Dumbledore, one he didn’t recognise and one from Lupin.

He laid aside Ron’s for a moment and opened the one from Dumbledore, laying it out flat, seeing the familiar thin, slanting writing.

_Dear Harry,_

_I was most pleased to hear that Theodoric Fowler has recruited you for his England team. He came to me to ask me of your exploits on the Gryffindor team and I was most eager to sing your well-deserved praises. I personally contacted the Ministry to oversee security matters concerning your time in Ireland and am satisfied they are appropriate, though would advise you to continue exercising caution; enemies may lurk anywhere._

_I write only to say congratulations, and if I may, express my pleasure and pride at how well you have seemed to cope with what happened at the Ministry. Permit me to say that I think Sirius would have been very proud of you, especially in light of this latest development._

_I wish you well for the upcoming game and am sure you will do the nation proud, no matter the outcome. I am joined in these felicitations by Professor McGonagall, who has asked me to communicate her upmost support for you and to reassure you she shall be abandoning her long hatred of the England team to cheer you on. As a proud Scotswoman, who has always insisted on supporting ‘anyone but England’ in international tournaments, I think this speaks volumes as to her regard for you._

_Good luck!_

_I am, yours most sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore._

Harry swallowed; his voice seemed to have deserted him. The mention of Sirius had been hard, but the rest of the letter had set off glowing feelings of warmth inside. The thought of McGonagall supporting him was a welcome one and one which he was most grateful for, she, after all, being the one who got him into Quidditch in the first place.

He laid this letter aside and opened Lupin’s next, which was slightly shorter.

_Dear Harry,_

_I can’t quite believe I’m writing these words, but well done on making the England team! I am sure you’ll do us all proud—you already have. If you play half as well now as when you were thirteen and I saw you at Hogwarts, you’ll have no trouble._

_I know things must have been hard for you since Sirius died. I’m so glad you’re still out there doing the things you love. He’d be so proud of you, Harry, and so would your parents. It was always your dad’s dream to play for England and he’d be so excited to see you fulfil this dream for him._

_I’m hoping to get away to come see you play. Good luck!_

_Remus_

Again, Harry felt himself getting oddly emotional. How could he be feeling so close to tears yet grinning at the same time?

He opened the third letter and saw that it was from Mr Weasley.

_Dear Harry,_

_Let me just say, the entire family has gone completely insane. You should have seen the kitchen at the Burrow when the_ Daily Prophet _arrived and told us all you were playing for England. Your letter to Ron came five minutes later and thank Merlin it did because I don’t think any of us would have believed it otherwise._

_Molly and I, the whole family, are so, so proud of you. It’s worth the complete chaos that’s taken over life at home to know you’ll be playing in such a high-profile game. Hopefully, this can be the start of many great opportunities for you._

_We’re all coming to Ireland to watch and should arrive on the thirtieth. You probably won’t be able to get away because of all the security (Kingsley’s told us about some of the arrangements) so if we don’t see you before the game, we wish you all the luck in the world. You’ll do brilliantly._

_Lots of love,_

_Arthur and Molly_

Harry was grinning even wider now. He could easily imagine the scene in the Burrow’s kitchen as the news arrived; Ron swearing loudly in disbelief, Ginny punching the air, Mrs Weasley sobbing, Mr Weasley dropping his glasses. He was glad they were coming, that they were happy for him. Without them, he’d never even have been to a professional game before. It was an amazing feeling to know that now they were coming to see _him_.

The next letter was Hermione’s.

_Dear Harry,_

_Congratulations! This is amazing! I think you’ll be the youngest player ever to play internationally. What an amazing achievement. To be part of something as large-scale as this so young! You must be so excited._

_You know I’m only ever really interested in Quidditch when you or Ron are playing, and this will be the best game ever. I can’t wait to come and see you. You’re going to be incredible._

_Train hard, Harry (as I know you will) but don’t forget to have some downtime as well. Professional matches have a tendency to go on for long periods of time, according to_ Quidditch Through the Ages _, so make sure you’re prepared._

_This must mean so much to you, Harry. I’m so pleased for you. Good luck!_

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry laughed slightly at the fact Hermione was still quoting books at him and put down her letter with another flush of happiness.

Now, he turned to the four letters from Ron. He sorted through them for the dates scrawled on the outer envelopes and opened the earliest.

_Harry—_

_IS THIS A JOKE??? IS SOME RIDICULOUS RUMOUR MADE UP BY THE PROPHET? THIS CAN’T BE TRUE? NO WAY! WRITE BACK AS QUICK AS YOU CAN._

_Ron_

Harry laughed again, and turned to the next of Ron’s letters, dated to the following day.

_Harry—_

_SERIOUSLY???? THIS ISN’T A JOKE? THE DAILY PROPHET SAYS YOU’VE ACCEPTED! ARE THEY MAKING THIS UP? ARE YOU TRYING TO WIND ME UP? THIS IS INSANE!!!!_

_WRITE BACK BEFORE I GO NUTS!_

_Ron_

The next letter was for the next day again.

_Harry—_

_NO WAY!!!! I JUST SAW THE PICTURE IN THE PAPER OF YOU AT THE MINISTRY WITH FOWLER. THIS IS DEFINITELY TRUE?????? HE’S AN ACTUAL LIVING LEGEND!! MERLIN’S PANTS!!!_

_THIS IS AMAZING!! I’M LITERALLY ABOUT TO DIE WITH JEALOUSY!_

_HURRY UP AND WRITE BACK!!! I NEED TO KNOW MORE!!_

_Ron_

The last letter, which Harry could barely open from laughing, was dated to two days ago.

_Harry—_

_WRITE BACK TO ME NOW BEFORE I SEND A HOWLER! THE PROPHET SAID YOU’VE STARTED TRAINING! YOU’RE FLYING WITH ELIAS PARKER FROM THE CANNONS?? GREATEST PLAYER THE CANNONS HAVE EVER SEEN? AND EMMELINE SANDERSON??? EVERY BLOKE IN OUR YEAR FANCIES HER!!! YOU’RE THE LUCKIEST SOD ON THE PLANET YOU KNOW THAT??_

_SERIOUSLY MATE. WRITE BACK AND TELL ME EVERYTHING ABOUT THEM ALL._

_Ron_

Harry brushed the tears of laughter from his eyes as he laid this last letter aside. He supposed he’d better write back, and quickly; he wasn’t sure how the Aurors reading his mail would react to a Howler.

There were some writing materials on the desk, and Harry soon found some parchment watermarked with the logo of the Irish Ministry of Magic’s Department of Magical Games and Sports and an emerald green quill far fancier than any he’d used before.

_Dear Ron,_

_Sorry for not writing before_ _now. All my post is delayed for security reasons and I’ve barely had any time for writing with everything that’s happened._

_I can’t quite believe it, but yes, it’s all true. Fowler came to my aunt and uncle’s and asked me to join his team. I thought he was mad at first, but how could I say no? It’s all happened so fast and to be honest, I feel like I’m in a dream half the time. You’re right, I’m the luckiest person ever._

_It’s amazing here. The Players’ Lodge is like the fanciest hotel you can imagine and the stadium itself is massive. Much bigger than the pitch at school! Training sessions are really tough but so much fun. I’m learning loads and getting to watch the others, which is incredible. Can’t believe I’m on the same team as them!_

_You wanted to hear more about them? Here goes, but I’m having to hide this from Aardash Khatri who’s sitting about four feet away (how insane is that??)._

_First of all, Elias Parker, who I know you’re desperate to hear about. He’s really nice! Not much else to say really. He’s actually quite quiet. He cooks for all of us and he does a shepherd’s pie that might even beat your mum’s. He says he knows Bill and Charlie – don’t know if they ever told you that! I told him about you and he said he was glad to have such a die-hard Cannons fan even after all their defeats. Said he’d be happy to meet you some day if he gets the chance!_

_Emmeline Sanderson—she’s nice too, but don’t call her by her full name if you don’t want to be hexed. Emmy wasn’t too happy with me showing up at first. I think she was a bit peeved a teenager was getting to elbow his way into a team she’s spent so long working for, but she’s much better now she’s seen me in training. She’s definitely as good-looking in real life as she is on yours and Seamus’s posters in the dormitory, but she’s not vain about it. She’s dead down to earth and focused on winning._

_I get on best with Aardash Khatri. He’s really funny and so loud! His room is next to mine and he keeps waking me up with all the laughing and joking he does with his roommates. He was so friendly when I arrived and made me feel loads better. Him and Nate Watson remind me of Fred and George with all the practical jokes they do. Nate keeps trying to get one over on me, but he hasn’t yet. Thank Fred and George for me for all the product testing they did in the common room over the years. Thanks to them, I’m smart enough to recognise a Canary Cream or a Puking Pastille when I see one!_

_Becca Haynes is fairly quiet, like Elias, but she’s good fun all the same. She and Emmy have been best friends since school but they’re so different. Becca’s going out with Nate so they’re constantly around each other. Little bit too much to handle at times, if you know what I mean!_

_Fowler’s a grumpy git, there’s no other way of saying it. He’s a fantastic manager though, so I’ll gladly put up with all his tempers and weird rules if he helps us win. He knows so much and he’s still an amazing flier._

_Evander Turner’s the only weird one. I thought with both of us being the same age and put on the team at the last minute we might have a lot to talk about, but he’s barely said two words to me, even though we share a room. I’m not sure what to make of him. He’s a great Keeper though, so I guess I can live with it._

_I’m about to run out of parchment so I’ll finish. Say hi to your family for me and thank your mum and dad for their letter, and Lupin too if you see him. The post is ridiculously slow here because they have to read it all and filter out the fan mail, so I might not write too often. Hope to see you all soon, hopefully before the final if I can manage it._

_Harry_

Harry read over this letter again, possibly the longest one he’d written since the one to Sirius about how he’d beaten the Horntail. He paused when it came to the part about Turner. He wanted to say more here, to express just how curious he was about this boy and how he seemed somehow drawn to him but couldn’t find the words to describe it. He left it as it was.

He wrote another shorter letter to Hermione (he guessed Ron would let her read this one) and rolled them both up. He didn’t feel like making extra work for the Aurors by writing more when they were probably all together anyway. He glanced up to see Aardash finishing writing a letter of his own.

“I’ll send them for you, if you like?” he said, standing up with his own scrolls. “I know you’ve got your own owl, but we have to use the Ministry owls, for—”

“—security,” Harry finished. So much around here was all about security. He wondered if this was normal practice or because of Voldemort moving out into the open. “Yeah, thanks, Dash.”

Aardash took the scrolls and left. Harry sat himself for a few moments, enjoying the feelings which had gushed around him as he read the letters. The thought of all his friends so excited for him and telling him how proud they were made him exhilaratingly happy. He wasn’t used to such a feeling. Before now, he’d never really been praised for something he’d achieved on his own. The triumphs in the Triwizard Tasks were all due to others helping him, and all the times he’d narrowly escaped death had been a combination of sheer nerve and pure luck. Quidditch was the only thing he could say was really his.

Still buzzing with elation, Harry stood up to go for a walk around the Lodge, and maybe out into the gardens, trying to work off his excitable energy.


	8. A Familiar Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading and commenting!

Before Harry could head out into the gardens, Fowler met him at the foot of the stairs, expression even more unpleasant than usual. He seized Harry by the elbow and dragged him back up the England stairs and away from the lobby.

“Don’t go down there, whatever you do,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Karlsson’s on the prowl.”

Despite Fowler’s mood, Harry couldn’t help but peer over his shoulder, curious to see the Swedish manager. Helena Karlsson was famous even in Britain as one of the best Chasers ever to appear in a World Cup. Her rivalry with Fowler was well known; her career in professional Quidditch was said to have ended as a result of a Bludger he had sent hurtling towards her head. It was even rumoured it had left her with a permanently altered personality, sending her quite insane.

He was denied a glimpse however, and Fowler kept dragging Harry away, not stopping at the first floor but continuing on to the second, which was filled with various offices. Fowler stopped, peering over the railing as if expecting Karlsson to be following them. It was such a childlike gesture that Harry would have laughed if he had dared to do so in Fowler’s current mood.

“What a banshee,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Conniving cow. She’s been angling to get a shot at you since you arrived. She was furious we signed you. Kept insisting it was against EAQ rules since you’re underage. Bloody Bludger obviously left her unable to read; the rules clearly state that a player must be sixteen to _play_ for his team. Doesn’t say anything about signing them up before their birthday.”

Harry also glanced over the balcony, a little worried that this famous Quidditch player might be after him. He saw nothing, however.

Fowler’s expression did not get any less disagreeable. “I’m going to have a word with the liaison from the EAQ about her. I’m not having her threaten one of my players. Stay here till you’re certain she’s gone and bolt if you see her. Watch your back, Potter. Get a house-elf to test everything you eat or drink, even the stuff Parker makes; I wouldn’t put it past her to put the Imperius Curse on him.”

“Right,” Harry said, wondering what Hermione would make of this treatment of house-elves. He did as asked, however, and stayed where he was as Fowler disappeared into one of the offices in the corridor behind him. He hung over the railings, wishing he had a pair of Extendable Ears to check if the coast was clear, or had thought to keep his Invisibility Cloak on him.

“Harry?”

Harry jumped as a loud foreign voice sounded behind him, thinking for a wild moment that Karlsson had sneaked up behind him before realising the voice was definitely male. He turned around and was astonished to see Viktor Krum behind him.

“It’s you!” he cried, hand over his heart. “You gave me a fright.”

Krum frowned, looking behind Harry. “Vot are you doing?”

“Hiding from Karlsson,” Harry said, now feeling ridiculously foolish. “She … doesn’t like me much.”

Krum seemed to accept this without any trouble at all, in fact, he looked understanding. “She is some voman,” he agreed. “I vood hide too.”

Harry laughed lightly, relaxing now. “What are you doing here?”

“I haff been asked to be a representative for my country,” he said, shrugging. “The EAQ vont me to attend the match and promote goodvill or something like that.”

He looked a bit sullen, and Harry dared not ask his next question about how his team was getting on. Bulgaria obviously hadn’t made it to the finals.

“Well, glad to see you,” Harry said, a bit awkwardly. “Funny, I was just hearing how Fleur got engaged to my best friend’s brother. You remember Ron? Weird that we’re still running into each other.”

Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to go down this route; thinking back to the Tournament reminded him of Cedric, which was painful. Krum looked slightly interested.

“The red-headed von?” he asked. “Herm-own-ninny vood talk about him often in her letters. How is she?”

“Good, the last I heard. She’s coming to the match.”

Krum didn’t look much enthralled by this, and Harry wondered what the situation was now between the two of them; Hermione had still definitely been writing to him as recently as a couple of months ago. Was this just Krum’s normal expression?

“Congratulations, I should say,” Krum said, sticking his hands into his robe’s pockets. “I haff not seen you play Quidditch, but I remember how vell you fly from the First Task. You must be honoured.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, remembering back to the crazy emotions of the morning. “Bit overwhelmed really. This is so big. I don’t know how you managed it all so young.”

“I vonted to play Quidditch, so I had to manage,” he said, shrugging. “But I understand. It is hard ven you are young. England is a good team. You vill do vell, I am sure.”

“Any tips?” he asked, remember Fowler’s advice to him to ask Krum if he saw him.

“Against Sweden?” Krum’s face distorted into a scowl. “Beat them. Beat them hard. They are the vons who put us out of the Championship. That Seeker of theirs is sneaky. Beat me to the Snitch by half an inch.”

“Right,” Harry said, stunned by his sudden vehemence. “I’ll—I’ll remember that.”

There was an awkward moment of silence as Harry wondered how he could slip away; being trapped between an angry Swede and angry Bulgarian wasn’t much fun.

“You were amazing at the World Cup final,” he said, trying to get back Krum’s good mood, or at least a neutral one. “I could only dream of playing half so well. That Wronski Feint you did was incredible. Wish I could do it.”

Krum raised an eyebrow, and there was a flash of something in his eye.

“You vont to do Wronski Feint?” he asked. “I can teach you.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “You’d do that?”

Krum scowled again. “To beat Sweden? Of course! I cannot use it anymore. Since Vorld Cup people expect it. It does not fool any more. But you? No von vood expect. Larsson is exactly the sort of fool who vood fall for it. If I could haff used it on him …”

Harry was stunned that a man as notoriously private as Krum would offer such a thing. Perhaps he was finally seeing the softer side that Hermione talked about. Or maybe he did just hate the Swedish team that much.

“That—that would be amazing, thanks!”

“Good, ve can begin tomorrow.” Krum said, the beginnings of a smile appearing. “The pitch is empty between eleven and von. Meet me there tomorrow and ve can begin.”

Harry had barely begun to thank him again when a door down the corridor opened and an irate looking Fowler emerged. He stopped next to them, looking between them with a calculating expression.

“So, you’ve run into each other then? Potter said you knew each other. Helping our newest member, Krum? You were about his age when you joined the reserve team for Bulgaria weren’t you?”

“Yes. I am going to teach him the Wronksi Feint,” Krum said, not beating about the bush at all. Fowler’s eyes widened and he looked at Harry with an astonished expression.

“If you can manage that it’ll be enough to wipe the crooked smile off Helena Karlsson’s smug little face for the next decade! Think you can?”

Harry thought back to watching Krum at the game two years ago and suddenly felt a little apprehensive at the thought of replicating that in front of thousands.

“I haff seen him dive, if he can manage that he vill be fine,” Krum shrugged. “Vot is the thought of crashing into ground ven he can dive between the legs of a dragon?”

Harry considered this. If he was honest with himself, he’d often used diving as a tactic in his games; it was one of his specialities. It had been a dive to catch a Remembrall which had earned him his place on the team in the first place.

“I think I can,” Harry said to Fowler. “With a bit of practice.”

Fowler’s face broke out into what seemed like a genuine smile. “Do it then. If you pull it off, no one will ever remember you only as the Boy Who Lived ever again.”

* * *

Krum soon left and Fowler declared the coast free as Karlsson went back to the stadium to the Swedish training that she’d abandoned, leaving Harry free to walk about the gardens. He was coming to quite enjoy his time in this strange little wilderness. He recognised several exotic plants from his Herbology lessons as he walked, and this sent another spark of happiness through him as he remembered the OWL results he’d received the day before leaving to come to Ireland. He’d been thrilled at his grades, having expected to fail both Divination and History of Magic anyway, only being slightly disappointed by his E in Potions. This then meant the end of his ambition to become an Auror, as Snape would only accept O students. Still, if this game worked out, maybe he’d end up not pursuing a career as an Auror at all.

Several strange animals roamed the gardens, some of which Harry recognised, and others he did not. There was a Jarvey living in the gardens here, an overgrown ferret capable of human speech which Harry remembered from Care of Magical Creatures lessons as being notoriously bad-tempered and rude. Nate had attempted to try and teach it to say ‘top of the morning to you’, but the Jarvey had stubbornly resisted, biting the Chaser on the nose every time it saw him and repeating the phrase “Shut it, ugly! Shut it, ugly!” in a strong Irish accent instead.

The Jarvey crossed Harry’s path now, stopping to stare at him before moving on with a slight grumble of ‘four-eyed freak’ as it disappeared in the undergrowth. Harry had to laugh, having become quite fond of the creature. As long as you left it alone, it limited itself to dishing out only mild insults.

He passed by the tree where he had first seen Turner sitting on his first morning. He thought back to what he had written to Ron and reconsidered it. Was Turner really as weird as he thought he was? Krum also came across as quite sullen and unfriendly, often extremely uncommunicative, but he was a decent guy when you came to know him. Was Turner the same?

As though called by his thoughts, Harry saw a flash of movement at the silver gate and Turner himself was visible melding through the gate from the other side. Harry watched curiously as Turner entered and began walking briskly up the path. Just where did he go off to on his long hours alone? And why? He wondered if invisible Aurors had to follow _him_ around.

When he passed by Harry, Turner lifted his eyes to look at him, and once again, Harry was struck by how piercing his gaze was. He’d been about to ask him if he had to get permission to roam the woods but found himself speechless instead. As quick as he had looked at him, Turner pulled his eyes away, disappearing into the Lodge without another glance.

Harry was left standing quite ill at ease. What _was_ it with that boy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise to any Bulgarians reading for butchering Krum's dialogue. I was conflicted over using JKR's method of writing his accent phonetically or just going my own way and writing it properly. Eventually I just tried to recreate what was in the books. Sorry if it's bad! I know I hate it when people try and write my accent!
> 
> Next chapter will have more Krum and the first proper interaction of Harry and the mysterious Mr Turner! :)


	9. Small Steps Forward

Harry wasn’t sure to expect when he showed up to his lesson with Krum the next morning at just after eleven. Krum gave nothing away as they marched out onto the pitch, both dressed in their respective team’s training robes and carrying their brooms, though both were using spares instead of their usual for some as of yet unexplained purpose. Harry felt a flutter of excitement at the thought of flying with Krum, one of the best players in the world, though rationally he knew it was just the same man he’d known for almost two years.

Krum didn’t turn to talk to Harry until they’d reached the centre of the pitch. He looked up at the sky, marked the position of the sun and direction of the wind before nodding, apparently satisfied.

“Wronksi Feint must not be done when there is vind,” he said to Harry. “Or ven sun is directly in front. Slightest miscalculation can kill.”

Harry nodded. _Well, that was blunt._

“Jonas Larsson is excellent player,” Krum admitted, grudgingly. “Vunce he caught Snitch in eight minutes. But he has tendency to tail opposite Seeker. You can make use of this. Larsson is most dangerous in first half hour vich is ven he makes bids for Snitch. After that, ven match drags on, he vill votch you like a hawk. This is ven to use Feint.”

Harry listened intently. He had not yet met Jonas Larsson, but he knew of his reputation.

“You haff advantage. No von except Hogvarts students haff seen you play and they are saying nothing to press yet. Larsson vill be even more cautious as he learns how you move. He vill be perfect victim.”

Harry wasn’t sure if victim was the right word to use here, especially with such a foul look as Krum had on his face, but he didn’t protest.

“Wronski Feint is half flying, half psychology,” Krum said, face deadly serious. “Use it at wrong moment and it vill fail and you vill look like an idiot. You haff to be sure he vill fall for it.”

“How do I do that?”

“You must _make_ him believe you haff seen it,” Krum said. “Sudden dive is no use. He vill follow at first, but then see the truth and pull up. You haff to make sure he sees you begin the dive, but vithout looking directly at him.”

Krum switched his broomstick to his other hand, shifting his weight as he looked down at Harry.

“Make sure he is following you for several minutes, don’t do Feint straight after he starts to tail you. It is too obvious. Move around, up and down, left and right, make sure he is vithin fifty feet behind. Make sure he mirrors you. If he stops, attract attention and begin again. Patience is key.”

“Ven you are sure he is looking, you must act like you haff seen it, and then begin chase. But it is important you do not dive to begin. He vill be suspicious. Go straight, up, votever, but after he has started to follow, and _before_ he notices Snitch is not there, you begin dive. As you accelerate down, it becomes harder to see ahead and he vill not notice Snitch is not there, especially if you block view. He _must_ be directly behind.”

Harry was drinking it all in, determined not to forget a single detail. It was a lot more complicated than he had thought.

“Get faster and faster, and do not be afraid to crash,” Krum said firmly, though Harry privately thought this was easier said than done. “Pull up only at last possible second, sharply, using veight as leverage. You must concentrate very hard. After you begin dive, do not vorry about Larsson anymore. Focus on controlling your broom. If it goes vell, he vill be following and vill crash.”

“And if it doesn’t go well?”

“Either you simply von’t distract him, or you crash and maybe die.”

Harry was almost beginning to regret his decision to learn this move, but then remembered how amazing it had been to see Krum perform this move two years ago. He longed to be able to do something as cool as that.

Krum, whom Harry had never heard talk this much in one go, then decided to get started and they flew off on a couple of practice laps, Harry unable to resist watching Krum’s flawless movements through the air with a twinge of envy. Then they practiced simple dives high above the ground, Krum increasing the angle each time, drilling Harry in multiple run throughs, timing each dive and pushing him to increase his speed each time.

Harry was soon sweating buckets with the effort of pulling up from each dive; with every increase in speed and incline the forces of resistance he met also grew and it became more difficult to pull on his broom handle. He had to learn to adjust the weight on his broom and pull back using his own body as a counterweight instead of relying on his arms. It was one thing Krum really excelled in, and Harry was beginning to pick up by watching him; flying involved using _every_ part of your body.

Once Krum was happy with his performance, he moved onto diving towards the ground. Harry tried to do as Krum asked and forget his fear of crashing, but the sight of the ground rushing up towards him faster and faster was so terrifying he could help but pull up several feet from the ground each time, misjudging his proximity to the ground by a large margin.

Apparently Krum had expected this, and drew a purple line through the air with his wand a few feet above the earth, much resembling the Age Line around the Goblet of Fire, which rang like a loud bell when Harry dived past it. This helped Harry judge more accurately when he was close enough to the ground to pull up and yet expect the one behind him to crash. He could not bring himself to go at full speed yet, but Krum did not seem to mind. He corrected Harry’s grip, the downward angle of his handle and Harry’s posture on the broom with as much patience as any professional teacher. Then, he demonstrated a few Feints of his own, some at half speed and others full throttle, making Harry breathless to watch. It began to seem like an impossible endeavour.

Time was marching on, and Harry gave it one last try. This time, he went a touch faster and resisted pulling up until he heard the loud ringing of the purple line. But he miscalculated his pull up, or else did not put enough force behind it, for the next moment he’d slammed into the hard earth with a crunch of wood and a sharp spasm of pain along his arm.

Harry sat up with a hiss, feeling winded, seeing the shattered handle of the broomstick scattered around him. He saw now why Krum had insisted on them using spare brooms and not their own ones.

Krum landed beside him but did not appear disheartened. “Crashes vill happen,” he said with a shrug. “I did so many times before I mastered it. You are doing vell. If ve continue to practice every few days, you vill learn it.”

Harry tried to feel encouraged by this, but as he hobbled back to the Lodge to have a brief wash and rest before heading back out with the rest of the team he became irritated with himself. Was he reaching too far perhaps? He could only imagine how the doubters would react if he attempted something like this and ended up badly injured. Was it a stupid move?

He trudged back inside and up to his room, intending to grab as much sleep as he could before training but stopped in surprise in the doorway as he saw that the room was occupied. Turner was sitting on his bed, leaning back against a pillow, nose in a book. He glanced up as Harry entered, but didn’t say anything, returning to his book a moment later.

Feeling it would be churlish to walk back out again, Harry crossed to his own bed, kicking off his boots and removing his outer protective gear, despite his discomfort. However, as he removed the glove on his right wrist, he let out a gasp of pain.

Pushing up the sleeve, he saw that a couple of large splinters from the smashed broom handle had embedded themselves in the flesh slightly above the glove and were steadily bleeding. Harry’s whole arm had been numb from the impact and he had entirely missed this. Sucking on his teeth, Harry began to try and pull the splinters out, wincing as he did so.

“Are you okay?”

Harry was distracted from his pain by the shock of Turner voluntarily speaking to him. The Keeper had laid aside his book and sat up, looking across at Harry with a frown on his tanned face.

“Yeah,” Harry said, suddenly feeling a little tongue-tied. “I—I, uh, crashed. Splinters got in my arm.”

“ _You_ crashed?” Turner said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re one of the best fliers I’ve ever seen. How did that happen?”

Harry felt an odd giddy sense of pleasure at hearing Turner describe his flying in that way, and almost forgot to answer. He hadn’t been aware Turner had noticed his flying at all.

“I’ve been with Viktor Krum. He’s teaching me the Wronksi Feint. It’s pretty hard.”

“It’s also the most dangerous Seeker move there is,” Turner said, and Harry couldn’t tell if his tone was impressed or disapproving. “Let me see.”

Before Harry knew it, Turner had swiftly crossed the room and taken hold of Harry’s arm. He gasped at the contact, mostly with the pain, but also with something else. His heart had done a funny little flip when Turner’s hand had made contact with his skin. Must be the shock, he supposed.

Harry held his breath as Turner examined his arm, never having been this close to him before. He could almost count the freckles on his nose.

“Not too deep,” Turner murmured, prodding the flesh a little, and removing the last splinters Harry had missed. “But we should treat it in case it gets infected.”

“You know a bit about this,” Harry observed, more curious than ever.

Turner grimaced, one of the first true expressions he’d seen on his face other than indifference. “I used to get injured quite a lot.”

Without offering any more explanation, he made Harry sit down on his bed while he fetched a small box from underneath his own bed which bore the emblem of a crossed wand and bone. Turner opened it and withdrew a couple of little bottles before returning to Harry.

Kneeling down in front of him, he poured one of the liquids onto a small cloth and daubed it around the cuts as Harry hissed at the stinging sensation. Then he lifted the other bottle and, using a small dropper, dripped out small amounts of a brown liquid onto the open cuts. Harry watched amazed as the skin began to draw back together, then heal over entirely.

He ran his hand over the unmarked flesh as Turner put the bottles back in the medi-kit.

“Thanks, Turner.”

Turner’s lips twitched into what may almost be a smile. He wasn’t looking at Harry, still fiddling around with the clasp on the box.

“We need our Seeker, and a Seeker needs his arm,” he said quietly, a slight pink tinge coming over his cheeks.

He swallowed and then looked up and met Harry’s eyes. “And it’s Evan, by the way.”

Harry nodded slowly, struck by the way Turner—no, _Evan’s_ blue eyes contrasted vividly with his golden skin. They remained that way for a moment, Harry sitting on the bed, Evan kneeling on the floor before him. For some reason, Harry was finding it difficult to look away. His heart seemed to be beating faster; was that the effect of the potion he’d used on him?

Clearing his throat, Evan broke eye contact first. He stood up and took his medi-kit back to his own bed and stowed it away. Then, without looking at Harry again, he picked up his book and left the room.

Harry stayed rooted to his bed, all thought of sleeping banished from his thoughts. He was suddenly full of excitable energy in a way he usually associated with somersaulting on his broom.

What on earth had that been about? Why would the formerly aloof boy suddenly act as if he cared?

And why was Harry feeling so deliriously happy that he did?


	10. Waiting for the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading and commenting! I promise, updates to this fic will be more regular from now on!

The training session the next day went well, and Harry got the distinct impression that Fowler was pleased. They had practiced several team flying manoeuvres which came off so well Harry felt like he was flying as one with the rest of the team, like a single feather on one wing, moving flawlessly in sync with the others.

He did not attempt the Wronksi Feint during this session, deciding to leave that for his lessons with Krum before trying to complicate his usual training, but he did rehearse increasingly steep dives, trying to replicate the precise movements Krum had shown him, perfect his posture and his control.

Harry noticed Evan watching him several times as he did these dives, causing Fowler to shout at him for being distracted. He could not help watching him in return at times as he swooped overhead, awed by how easily Evan seemed to anticipate the direction the Quaffle would be flying in. He didn’t waste an ounce of energy, waiting as patiently as a spider lurking in the centre of a web, only darting off at the last second to block the goal, thereby heading off any evasive tactics used by the Chaser. He’d never seen anything like it and was once again struck by how effortlessly Evan moved through the air.

They ended their training session in high spirits and began to troop back through the internal corridors of the stadium, brooms slung over their shoulders. As they reached the foyer of the main entrance, Harry stopped in surprise as he saw three figures standing there. Two of them, both wizards, were dressed in black training robes with emblems on the upper left chest consisting of three yellow wizard hats on a blue background. Embroidered lettering under these patches told Harry their names were Svensson and Andersson. The third, a witch, was dressed in deep blue robes and was glaring towards the England team as they came up the corridor. She looked to be in her mid-forties and had wild black hair streaked with grey which was shoved messily into a bun on top of her head and was rapidly unfurling. She had the look of a hawk, her eyes narrowing as they approached.

“Fowler!” she barked, turning her scowl on him. “I must speak to you.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Karlsson,” Fowler said with a sneer. “Take it up with the EAQ.”

“You had no right to go behind my back!” Helena Karlsson screeched, eyes popping. “I was perfectly justified in raising concerns—”

“You have no right to try and intimidate my player,” Fowler growled. He took a step so he was side by side with Harry. “My team is my team. Its personnel has nothing to do with you.”

Karlsson’s expression soured even further as she turned her gaze on Harry. “It does when it goes against the rules. He might be sixteen on match day, but he’s never played professionally before. The rules clearly state—”

“That a player must have previously played in a _competitive_ match, not a professional one,” Fowler said with an air of triumph. “Potter has done so.”

“School games do not count!”

“They do for the EAQ. The referee at Hogwarts, Madam Hooch, is a certified referee with EAQ accreditation. That means administration of these games _technically_ comes under its jurisdiction and means they qualify as officially sanctioned competitive games.”

“You and your technicalities!” Karlsson fumed, hands on her hips. Her eyes were still bulging. “It does not change the fact you’ve got an adolescent schoolboy on your team who hasn’t the faintest idea of what it means to play proper Quidditch!”

“If that’s the case,” Fowler said, his face darkening as he took a step towards her, “what is it you’re afraid of? That a mere _schoolboy_ might beat your precious Larsson to the Snitch? Do you have so little faith in your own players?”

Karlsson’s face screwed up and her hand began to hover by her robe pocket, as if she was resisting the urge to curse him with everything she had.

“This is not the end of it, Fowler,” she spat. “Believe that.” Looking back at Harry, she snorted in contempt as she looked him up and down. “Enjoy this while you can, Boy Who Lived. You’re going to be humiliated on that pitch.”

With one last foul look at them both, she turned on her heel and stalked off in the direction of the cafeteria. The two Swedish players, to their credit, looked a little embarrassed by their manager’s outburst, and nodded respectfully to the other team before following, with one even offering Harry a slight smile as he left.

This smile, however, did not lift the dark mood Harry had begun sinking into at the manager’s words. _Adolescent schoolboy … no idea what it means to play proper Quidditch …_

“Evil woman,” Fowler grumbled as they began headed back up to the Players’ Lodge again. “Don’t mind her, Potter, but keep an eye out, like I said. After my words with the EAQ witch yesterday, they did a bit of investigating and found she’s been trying to bribe one of the Irish Ministry officials into having you kicked off the team. Obviously, that’s against the rules and the Swedish team’s been fined. That’s why she’s grousing. She was so thrilled to hear the French team had managed to poison us she’s just pissed now that I managed to replace my missing players. Ignore it.”

Harry wished he could dismiss it as easily as this, but the conversation lingered with him long after they’d all gone back to the Lodge and washed and changed. He could barely concentrate during the strategy meeting and left the gym session much earlier than the others, claiming a sore head. He sat alone in his room for at least an hour thinking it over.

She was right. No matter what way Fowler tried to twist it, Harry had never played in a professional Quidditch match before. The oldest player he’d ever played against was a seventh year, at most seventeen or eighteen years old. The Swedish team were all in their twenties and had several years behind them competing successfully in the Swedish Quidditch League. A couple of them had even won the European Cup with their respective teams. What chance did he have?

He began again to think about how stupid it was that he was even here thinking he had a hope of winning. He must look like a hopeful fool, entirely deluded and imbued with a false sense of confidence after a few school victories. Was this what the whole of Europe was now thinking? Being delighted at winning over the rest of his team now seemed ridiculously optimistic.

The sky outside was growing darker, but Harry longed to get out of this room, which suddenly seemed stifling. Knowing that he would be pursued by Aurors if he tried to leave the Lodge or its grounds, he got up and started rooting around in his school trunk for his Invisibility Cloak. Finding it scrunched into a ball at the bottom, he drew it out, ran his hands through its silky folds for a moment before draping it around himself.

Feeling a bit reckless, he stole out of his room and crept along the corridor. Fowler wasn’t yet back in his room, which meant his usual trip jinxes and other anti-sneaking out features had not yet been set up, so Harry had no trouble making his way down to the lobby, which was busy even at this late hour with various officials. No one batted an eyelid as Harry discretely opened the door to the gardens and slipped out.

The familiar smell of the gardens was comforting, but Harry still felt the need to get further away. To be able to walk and breathe without being worried about others around him. He headed towards the silver gate and, taking only half a second to think about it, pushed his way through into the woods beyond.

Harry set off down the lantern-lit path, unsure exactly where he was going, but just desperate to get out of sight of both the Lodge and the stadium. About halfway to the stadium, a smaller path branched off from the main one. Harry hesitated a second before following it.

The path led him deep into the forest, twisting and turning around large tree roots, growing narrower and narrower until it fizzled out entirely. Harry then found himself scrambling over uneven ground, crunching twigs as he went. He was soon breathless, but the exercise and fresh air, tinged slightly with the scent of pine needles, was helping to drive him onwards and dispel some of the darkness around his thoughts.

After a while, believing himself to have eluded any invisible Aurors, he pulled off the Cloak and stuffed it into his pocket. It made breathing and the walking easier and he felt freer as the light summer breeze began to brush against his skin. It was deadly silent here; even the nocturnal birds had not yet woken up. It was the stillness in the gap between twilight and dusk. Entirely peaceful.

Harry stopped and breathed in for a few moments, letting some of the tension leave his shoulders. After the hustle and bustle of the Players’ Lodge, this was an untouched wilderness of calm.

He pressed on, and soon the trees in front of him opened out to reveal a large clearing of soft downy grass which rippled slightly in the soft breeze. Harry was about to cross this clearing when he suddenly saw a dark shape lying down in the long grass before him.

Immediately on edge, Harry reached into his pocket for a wand, cursing himself for coming so far into the woods alone, but was settled the next moment when he stepped a little closer and recognised the blond head which was visible through some of the undulating blades of grass.

It was Evan, and like the first day Harry had seen him, he was entirely still, though this time he was lying down and his eyes were open, staring up into the darkening sky with a mesmerised expression. It looked like such a personal moment, and Harry did not want to intrude, not least because he was still uncertain about this boy, so he began to retreat.

As he did so, Evan’s head turned sharply. “Who’s there?”

Cringing, Harry stepped forwards again. “It’s Harry.”

“Harry?” Evan sat upright and turned towards him, the corner of his mouth lifting up slightly. “What are you doing here?”

Harry suddenly felt a bit embarrassed at coming so far alone, but then, why was Evan here?

“I just needed to get out,” Harry said honestly, seeing Evan nodding slightly. “I felt suffocated.”

“I get that,” he said quietly. He patted the ground next to him. “Come sit with me.”

For some reason, the thought of that made Harry begin to panic slightly.

“Uh, I don’t want to intrude. I didn’t know you were here so—”

“Come on,” Evan said, and his lips twisted into a genuine smile which lit up his whole face.

Drawn in by the sight of that smile, Harry found himself walking closer. Evan watched him as he drew up and sat cross-legged beside him. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly and adjusted his position. He felt that he should say something, but Evan did not seem ready for conversation, looking down at the ground and running his fingers through the grass. Harry cast around for something to say to break the silence and was reminded of their conversation yesterday.

“I think you’re a great flier too,” he blurted out, then immediately wished he hadn’t when Evan raised his eyes to look at him in surprise. “I mean—yesterday, what you said about me … I think you’re really good too. Amazing, in fact. I’ve never seen anyone fly like you.”

Harry looked away, but before he did, he could have sworn there was a slight flush to Evan’s cheeks. _What did you go and say that for?_

“Thank you,” Evan said after a moment. “I love to fly.”

“Yeah, it’s the only time you smile,” Harry said, staring at his knees. He felt he was digging himself in a deeper hole with everything he said, yet he could not stop. “The only time I see you happy.”

“I didn’t realise you noticed,” Evan said, looking back down at the ground. “I don’t usually have much cause for smiling.”

Harry cast a glance at him from the corner of his eye. Was he sad? He couldn’t tell. Evan’s face gave nothing away.

“Why’s that? If it’s not too personal,” he hastened to add.

He wasn’t sure if Evan was going to answer, but eventually, he spoke. “There aren’t a lot of things in my life which give me joy, except Quidditch,” he said slowly. “I get … troubled, quite often. When I do, I need to escape, find somewhere to relax, to meditate. It’s what helps me.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Harry asked, suddenly afraid he was disturbing him if he wanted to be alone.

“No,” Evan said straight away, meeting his eyes again. “I’d like you to stay.”

Harry felt a positive surge of happiness as he heard that and was privately relieved. He’d had no wish to leave.

Evan looked away and peered up into the sky. “Do you know anything about astronomy?”

“Uh,” Harry said, thinking of the ‘Acceptable’ he’d just gained in his Astronomy OWL, “a bit.”

“I like to stargaze,” Evan continued, staring upwards. “I like waiting for the first stars to appear.”

Harry also looked up, seeing an indigo blue sky tinged with pinkish orange hues. “Might be a while. It’s not late enough yet and it’s summer.”

“I don’t mind,” Evan said, “I’m pretty patient.”

Thinking of how good at Evan was at waiting for the perfect moment to strike during their training sessions, Harry wasn’t surprised. He searched around for something to say but came up short. Despite desperately wanting to stay, he was deeply uncomfortable.

“Is this where you come when we can’t find you?” Harry asked, wondering if this was a bit too probing.

“Sometimes.” Evan’s eyes roamed over the sky. “I get up early every morning to come here to see the sun rising over the trees. Sometimes you can see Sirius as well.”

And just like that, Harry felt like someone had stabbed a knife into his heart. He tore his eyes away from the sky and breathed heavily, drawing his knees closer to his chest. _He’d never see Sirius again_.

Seeming to notice, Evan turned his head. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, trying to compose himself. “I am.” Upon seeing Evan’s sceptical raising of an eyebrow however, he elaborated. “It’s just … my godfather’s name was Sirius. And he … died. Recently.”

Evan winced. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I know what it’s like to lose someone. It’s hard.”

Harry nodded, unable to bring himself to speak with the lump in his throat. After a moment of pulling himself together, he found himself continuing on.

“He’d have loved all this,” he said, locking his hands under his knees. “The Quidditch. He bought me my Firebolt. It’s just hard to know he’ll … he’ll never write to me again. That I can never tell him about this. It’s just not fair to not be able to have him here … not now that his name’s been cleared.”

Why he was pouring his heart out to this almost perfect stranger, he had no idea, but it felt good to get it off his chest, to put into words the weight he’d been carrying around all summer and had not yet expressed to anyone. Evan did not seem to mind.

“I read about him in the papers,” he said, “and you’re right, it isn’t fair. To be hounded and punished all those years when he was actually innocent. You were robbed of him. I’m sure he’d be proud of you.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Harry said bitterly, staring at the ground, “and I know it’s true. Doesn’t change the fact though that I wish it was him telling me.”

“No, I don’t suppose it does.”

They fell into silence, but Harry didn’t mind. Speaking about Sirius, hard as it was, made him feel slightly better. It was odd; he hadn’t even written to Ron or Hermione about how he was feeling after losing Sirius. Nor about the crushing weight the knowledge of the prophecy had forced on him. How could someone he’d only just met help him like this when he’d never even known Sirius?

“Was it being upset over your godfather that made you wander in the woods, or was it something else? You seemed bothered even before I mentioned his name.” Evan said after several minutes. It could have been a rude question from anyone else, but Harry sensed Evan’s directness was intended kindly, and not invasively.

“It was—” he said, breaking off as he wondered if he should say, “—it was Karlsson.”

Evan nodded deeply. “She’s not the nicest, is she? She wasn’t happy when they announced I was playing either.”

“At least you were an official reserve, though,” Harry pointed out. “You were technically already on the squad.”

“Only just,” Evan said, eyes growing distant. “I’m not sure really why I was picked. I’ve only played in one game for the Appleby Arrows, and that was only in the last half hour as substitute. But Fowler saw me play and insisted on me joining. The main team weren’t happy one of their reserves was picked over any of them.”

“You’re kidding?” Harry asked incredulously. “Who wouldn’t pick you? You fly so well and you’re the best Keeper I’ve seen.” Flushing furiously as Evan looked back at him, he began to stammer. “I mean—I know I already said that ... but it’s true! I wish I could move half as well as you. You look so professional when you fly, and I—I guess I’m just worried that I’ll stick out.”

He drew a deep breath, kicking himself for babbling like that. Intensely embarrassed, he could have stood up and ran for the trees. He was rewarded, however, by the sound of a short laugh. Raising his eyes, he saw Evan smiling again, blue eyes sparkling in the half-light.

“But you do too,” he said, hearteningly. “Don’t you know that? You think Fowler would let you be on the team if you didn’t fly like a professional? If you didn’t, he be off scooping up a foreign player and trying to forge a birth certificate to prove they were born in England.”

“But what if Karlsson’s right?” Harry asked, though experiencing a swoop of delight in his belly at Evan’s words. “I’ve only played in school games before. What if I can’t keep up? What if—”

Harry broke off, coming to the crux of the matter, dipping his eyes. “I got famous for being lucky,” he said gloomily. “What if that’s all I’ve been until now?”

Evan was quiet for a moment, and as they sat there, Harry could hear the first sounds of owls beginning to hoot in the nearby trees.

“I can’t answer that, Harry,” he said. “But, for what it’s worth, I don’t think so. You’re an amazing player, even if you’re starting to doubt that. Continue training and upping your game, and you’ll prove that to everyone, no problem. You’ve already proven it to Fowler, and the rest of us.”

Harry stole a glance back at him and was glad to see the smile still on his face. It seemed strange to see it there on the face of someone who always seemed so stoic and passive. It was as though the effect of the serene woods and semi-twilight had caused some mystical change to come over him.

He began to wonder what it was that troubled this boy so much that he had to steal away in private to meditate. Here, in the clearing, he seemed so free of worry, so open and honest. Harry found the thought of him being so upset deeply distressing.

“Thanks,” he murmured, deciding not to argue anymore. For some reason, when he looked at Evan, he was somehow able to believe him. His heart gave another one of those funny leaps as Evan looked into his eyes.

Harry was gladder than ever he had chosen to sneak out of the Lodge this night, at this time. The thought of having missed Evan, missed this conversation was not a pleasant one. It was almost as if he had been drawn here on purpose.

The seconds dragged on, and the two of them continued to look at each other, the beating of Harry’s heart steadily growing faster. His mouth had gone dry.

An owl hooted loudly nearby, and Harry jerked his head towards it, pulled out of Evan’s spell. Darkness now really had descended, and he knew Fowler would soon be setting up all his jinxes and traps. He should get back.

“I should go,” he said quickly, jumping up and brushing down his jeans, clearing his throat. He knew was in danger of staying out here all night experiencing this strange rush of emotions if he didn’t leave now.

Evan stayed where he was on the ground, frowning slightly, as though Harry had disappointed him somehow. He made no move to leave.

Harry avoided Evan’s eyes as he turned to leave, half walking half running across the grass, leaving the other boy and his confused feelings in the clearing behind him.


	11. Garden Conversation

Over the next couple of days, Harry focused harder than ever in his training, spurred on by Evan’s words. He forced himself to forget his doubts about matching up to the rest of the team and threw himself into everything enthusiastically. He must have shown some sort of improvement, as Emmy pulled him aside at one point to speak to him.

“Listen, Harry, I’m sorry about the way I treated you when you arrived,” she had said, chewing her lip. “I was a bit unfriendly. I’m just that desperate to win. But I’m glad you’re here. You’re doing really well.”

Harry’s new-found confidence even transferred to his sessions with Viktor, and his work on perfecting dives had paid off, as Harry finally managed to pull off one flawless Wronksi Feint (after several more crashes). Viktor had nodded in approval, and even gave him the shadow of a smile.

“Keep going like that and you vill be vunderful in the match,” he said, waving his wand to clear away the detritus from Harry’s earlier crashes. “But do not get too confident yet. There is lots more hard vork to come.”

Harry didn’t disagree; his entire body was aching from all the times he’d hit the ground instead of pulling up in time. They began to walk back into the stadium, waiting for the corridor ahead of them to clear; Viktor did not want them to be seen together in case it gave away their secret and wrecked Harry’s chances of pulling it off in the match.

“How is the rest of your team?” Viktor asked, as they resumed their journey. “Is training going vell?”

“Really well,” Harry said happily. “They’re amazing.”

“I am actually looking forvards to seeing the game now,” Viktor said with a half-smile. “I vos not before. It seems Bulgaria is not to be vinning anything.”

“Your team’s so good though! You’ve still got a chance in the future.”

Viktor made a face. “Most of us are good,” he said. “Some of the new vuns … not so good. Ve are not yet a proper team.”

“Proper team?” Harry asked as they left the stadium and began up the path to the Players’ Lodge.

Viktor nodded. “A team is not just to be together to be a team. You must all be part of vun being. Even a Seeker, who does not vork vith anyvun else. You do not haff to like each other, haff same interests, but on pitch you move as vun. You must be comfortable vith them all. Know them inside out.”

Harry considered these words long after they had said goodbye at the Lodge and was still thinking as he headed upstairs. There was only one member of the team he was not yet comfortable with, but he didn’t exactly know what to do about that. He wasn’t sure exactly _how_ he felt around them.

The first floor was deserted as the rest of the team were at their gym session. Fowler, not wanting Harry to be too exhausted for their usual training session after flying with Viktor, had agreed to allow Harry to train with him at night after their tactical meeting when everyone else was at the gym, as long as Harry made the time up elsewhere. He saw no one as he headed into his room.

He drew off his protective gear and kicked off his boots, almost too exhausted to bother undressing. As he turned to his bed, however, he saw there was a letter lying there, stamped with the Irish Ministry logo and the word: SCREENED.

Harry’s exhaustion faded as he recognised Ron’s handwriting and sat down eagerly to read it. He’d decided to copy most of the rest of the players and not read his fan mail after Auror Kane had told him how alarmingly large the pile was growing by the day. The letter was dated a few days ago.

_Harry—_

_You’re lucky you’re in Ireland you jammy git because I’m about ready to strangle you with jealousy. You’re getting to eat Elias Parker’s homecooked meals??? I hope you choke on them._

_In all seriousness mate, this is so cool. It sounds so much fun! I’ve read your letter like a million times. You’re so lucky you’ve gotten to meet all of them (and no, Charlie and Bill DIDN’T tell me they knew Parker the sneaky sods). Fred and George are ecstatic that Watson and Khatri have bought some of their products. They wanted me to ask you if you can get some sort of sponsorship deal with them. Apparently knowing the Boy Who Lived isn’t enough for them._

_Mum and dad send their love and mum wants me to say she hopes you’re not training too hard, but I’m telling you to ignore that. England hasn’t won an international tournament in forever so no amount of training is too much._

_Ginny’s almost as jealous as I am that you’re working with Emmeline Sanderson (do you really call her Emmy???) She’s her absolute idol. Unbelievably hot. Get in with her if you can, mate._

_Things are good here, if a bit crazy. Hermione arrived yesterday and so did Charlie. Bill and Fleur are here too so we’re a bit cramped, especially when Fred and George come round for tea. The place we lived in London last year isn’t getting used till it can be checked it’s been legally passed to you (did you know he left you everything??) instead of Snuffles’ closest relative, so a whole bunch of other people keep dropping in as well. But we’re all so excited. There’s all sorts of rumours in the_ Daily Prophet _about you and the team, have you seen them? I don’t believe most of them. Apparently Karlsson’s trying to kill you. Mental._

_Pity that Turner’s such a weirdo. I don’t really know much about him, only that he was the youngest ever player to be signed for the Arrows. He’s the reason the Cannons lost that match back in March around my birthday. Not a big fan. Must be terrible sharing a room with him._

_Can’t wait to see you play! It’s going to be so amazing. Write back if you can._

_—Ron_

_P.S. SWEAR TO MERLIN HARRY IF YOU CAN GET ME A MEETING WITH ELIAS PARKER I’LL NEVER COMPLAIN ABOUT ANYTHING EVER AGAIN_

Harry laughed as he finished the letter. Hearing Ron’s excitement just made his own seem so much sweeter. He was touched at finding out Sirius had left him everything but moved on from it swiftly in case he found himself welling up. The wave of anger he felt as he considered the fact that Bellatrix may have inherited Grimmauld Place took a while to dissipate.

The part about Evan upset him more than he had expected, however. Had he really written that he found Evan weird? It certainly wasn’t how he saw him now. Different, perhaps, but not weird.

Before he lost the train of his thought, he grabbed some parchment and a quill and began to write at the desk in the room.

_Dear Ron,_

_Thanks for your letter. It’s nice to have a bit of normality around here! Fowler’s working us all to the bone and I’m completely exhausted, but the team’s looking really good. I think we’ve got a good chance._

_Tell Fred and George I already spoke to Aardash and Nate about the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products and they were really excited to find out I knew the people that run it. They’d actually had the idea for endorsing something too. Probably the Skiving Snackboxes, they said. Nate tried to use a Nosebleed Nougat yesterday to get out of training early, but Fowler didn’t bat an eyelid. Don’t think he’d care if one of us lost a leg as long as we could still sit on a broom._

_And yes, I do call her Emmy. Ginny’s right to like her, she’s an incredible Chaser. She took me to one side this afternoon to apologise for being a bit off with me and say she thinks I’m doing really well. How cool is that??_

_How did you do in your OWLs, I forgot to ask? I’m guessing Hermione got ten perfect grades. I got seven OWLs—an O in Defence and Es in everything else I care about. Means I can’t take NEWT level Potions though which is the only downer. Not that I like Snape, but I needed it to be an Auror. Wonder how he’s taking this by the way?_

_I wouldn’t be surprised if the_ Daily Prophet’s _right about Karlsson trying to kill me to be honest. Karlsson hates me. Really hates me. She’s been trying to get me kicked off the team and the Swedish team got fined because of it, so I’m guessing she’ll hate me even more now. Fowler’s got me testing all my food and drink. She’s actually terrifying. I’d rather spend time with that portrait of Sirius’s mother._

_With Evan Turner—I think I might have judged him too early. I know you won’t like him since he beat your team, but he’s actually nicer than I thought. Just a bit more … reserved, I guess? We’ve been hanging out a bit and I’m getting to know him a little better._

_Hope everyone’s okay and let them know I can’t wait to see them._

_Harry_

_P.S. Don’t worry, I’ll think of a way to get you and Elias in the same room!_

Harry finished and read it back, satisfied. He wondered about putting in a bit about training with Viktor but thought Ron wouldn’t be pleased to hear that name again. Plus, he wasn’t sure how well he could trust the Irish Aurors who were screening his mail not to leak that information to the Swedish team.

He also hesitated over what he wrote about Evan. Again, as it had last time, it didn’t seem right. It wasn’t enough. Though, he thought to himself, if he was to put in words exactly how he was feeling about Evan (if he could even work that out) he guessed Ron would be as freaked out as he was.

As Harry was rolling this letter up to prepare to send it, the door opened and Evan himself walked in. He didn’t look at Harry, but just started to strip off his sweaty clothes from the gym and pull on fresh ones. Harry found his eye being drawn towards him, seeing a thin layer of sweat glistening over his lightly muscled arms and chest as he pulled on a new shirt. He found the sight utterly fascinating. Evan’s eyes turned in Harry’s general direction and Harry looked away quickly with a blush.

_What was wrong with him_?

Evan continued getting dressed and when done, began to head towards the door as Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief. For some reason, he always felt a little strange when Evan changed in front of him. But Evan paused in the doorway and looked back.

“I’m going for a walk around the gardens,” he said, his eyes darting from side to side, as though he was _nervous_ of all things. “You’re welcome to come, if you like.”

Harry stared at him. This was a new development. Running into him unexpectedly was one thing, but _choosing_ to spend time with him? He hadn’t anticipated this.

He also hadn’t anticipated how much he wanted to.

“Okay,” Harry said, rising from his chair, abandoning his letter for the moment. Evan’s mouth stretched out briefly into a smile before snapping back into his usual indifferent expression.

They walked side-by-side down the corridor, Harry feeling a little light-headed at his sudden decision to come, despite all the strange things he felt around this boy. The two of them headed downstairs, through the crowded lobby and out into the darkening gardens. For some reason, Harry felt a little self-conscious as they passed all the other witches and wizards, though he couldn’t figure out why. What was so unusual about two teammates going for a walk together?

As it always did, the garden forced a sense of calm over Harry’s mind, and he almost smiled as they set off down one of the paths. Fairies were glowing in the bushes as they walked, and the night time flowers were beginning to open and release their scents. By his side, Evan walked slowly, not saying a word, but a peace seemed to have fallen over him too, for his face became less rigid and he sighed softly.

The garden jarvey slunk out on the path in front of them, flicking its bushy tail in annoyance. “Four-eyed freak!” it snarled at Harry, before turning its attention to Evan. “Freckle face! Four-eyed freak and freckle face! Fecking wizards! Fecking four-eyed freaky freckle face wizards!”

The jarvey scurried off into the shrubs, and after a moment of stunned silence, the two of them burst out laughing. Harry liked the sound of Evan’s laugh. It didn’t sound like something he did often.

They fell into silence again, and Harry began desperately to think of something to say. He thought of what Viktor had said about getting to know your team. He wanted to be comfortable around Evan, he _wanted_ to learn more about him. But his mouth was getting ridiculously dry.

“So um,” he started, a bit lamely, “you’re sixteen, right? Why don’t you go to Hogwarts?”

If he’d thought this was a safe question to ask, he was wrong, because Evan’s expression darkened slightly. He gestured for them both to go and sit on the grass, beneath the same tree Harry had seen him beneath that first morning. The earth was still radiating some warmth from the hot day, and Evan played with some blades of grass before he answered.

“I was supposed to,” he said slowly, “but … things happened. I got hurt as a kid and because of that … and a few other things, I wasn’t ready to go when I was eleven.”

Harry frowned. He didn’t like the thought of Evan being hurt. He wondered if this was something to do with the ‘troubles’ Evan went into the woods to meditate about. He also remembered back to the conversation in their room the other day, when Evan had mentioned that he used to get injured a lot.

“You’re better now though, right?” Harry asked. He certainly hadn’t seen any sign of injuries when he was watching—that is, catching a glimpse of Evan getting changed.

“Physically, yes,” Evan said, still avoiding looking at him. “But it’s been so long now that I never really thought of going. And I don’t know if I could. No one really joins unless they’re in first year, do they?”

Harry couldn’t remember it happening, but he was certain there must be some way of doing it.

“No, but I’m sure Dumbledore would let you,” he said. “He’s great like that. My friend, he’s a werewolf, and he never thought he could go to school until Dumbledore arranged things so that he could. And my friend Hagrid is half-giant, but Dumbledore gave him a job as professor, even though he never finished school.”

Evan looked up, suddenly interested. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, smiling. “He’d never turn someone away.”

Evan smiled back but sighed a moment later. “I don’t think I could, though,” he said sadly. “I’ve been home schooled so I can use magic and all, but I think I’d just stick out.” He shot Harry another look. “It’s like you said the other day about flying professionally. You’ve been formally trained in magic, I haven’t. Suddenly showing up for sixth year would be a bit too daunting for me.”

“But telling me I shouldn’t worry about flying against the best players in Europe is okay?” Harry pointed out. “If I can do it, you can.”

Evan tilted his head up and looked at the leaves above his head, exposing a long throat and prominent Adam’s apple.

“There’s other things in the way though,” he said softly. “My parents for one. They’d think Hogwarts is too dangerous for me.”

“Dangerous?” Harry asked, nonplussed. “Not any more than letting you play Quidditch. I mean yeah, there’s a few times I’ve been in danger there, but most students are fine, unless you count the basilisk in second year, and the dementors in third year. Or even the Triwizard Tournament. But it’s the safest place there is, especially with Dumbledore around.”

Evan shook his head, causing the curling hair around his ears to bounce slightly. “That’s not really what I meant.”

Harry waited, wondering if he would explain himself, but he didn’t. Far from learning more about Evan, he was growing ever more confused in his presence. And not just because of what he was saying. The sight of Evan sitting there entirely still staring up into the sky like an exquisitely carved statue was strangely arresting.

“This Triwizard Tournament,” Evan said abruptly, bringing his head back down to look somewhere in the region of Harry’s right shoulder. “It’s how you met Viktor Krum?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, glad to get back to some more comfortable conversation. “He was the Champion for Durmstrang and I was one of the ones for Hogwarts.”

“I remember reading about it,” Evan said, beginning to frown slightly. “It sounded terrifying.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, surprising himself by how boastful he was starting to sound, “but I survived.”

“And now you’re training with him,” Evan said. His frown grew deeper. “That’s a really dangerous move you’re trying. It could go badly wrong.”

Still feeling a little like he wanted to show off, Harry couldn’t help but say, “I know, but it’s a good opportunity. I’ve wanted to try it for years. If the risk pays off, we could have a great advantage.”

“Are you always that reckless with your life?” Evan asked, lips twisting together. “It seems like you choose to take a lot of risks.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he realised that Evan was _worried_ about him. That thought caused a strange swelling sensation to start filling his chest.

He tried to shrug it off. “Not really, risks just seem to find me, and I take them. Must be the Gryffindor in me.”

“Gryffindor? That’s one of the school houses, right?”

Harry quite gladly fell into easy conversation with Evan all about the Hogwarts houses, and the school in general, soon babbling on about classes and professors, and even some of the facts about the school he’d absorbed from Hermione over the years, sounding more and more like he was reciting large passages of _Hogwarts: A History._

Evan listened to all of it, and slowly, he raised his eyes from Harry’s shoulder to look at him properly, a small smile beginning to grow on his lips. As he talked, Harry began to wonder just what house Evan would be in. He was certainly ambitious enough to be a Slytherin, having gotten onto a professional Quidditch team so young, but it didn’t seem to suit. He wasn’t sure exactly how smart he was to be confident he could be a Ravenclaw, and judging by his worry about Harry’s risk taking, he wasn’t sure he was a Gryffindor. Did that leave Hufflepuff? He was definitely hardworking enough, judging by what he’d seen.

His voice began to trail off as he considered it. Evan looked at him questioningly.

“I’m just trying to work out what house you’d be in,” Harry said, explaining. “I can’t figure it out, but I think Hufflepuff.”

Evan smiled. “Maybe. But I don’t think we’ll find out. I won’t ever be going to Hogwarts.”

That thought made Harry inexorably sad as they finally stood up and headed back inside. Once back up in their room, Harry purposefully looked away as Evan undressed for bed, looking instead at letter to Ron, finally sealing and addressing it, ready to take to the mail room in the morning before undressing himself as swiftly as he could.

“By the way,” Evan said, causing Harry to turn around, “I have something for you.”

He was holding out an object which Harry immediately recognised as a pair of omnioculars.

“I recorded you flying when Fowler had me sitting out,” he said, looking at the floor, colour rising to his cheeks. “I thought, since you don’t believe me when I say you fly as well as a professional, I’d show you instead.”

Harry took the omnioculars, feeling slightly dazed. A warm feeling was rising through his body, from his toes to his chest. Evan smiled briefly and turned back to his bed, diving under the covers as if he’d suddenly caught a chill.

Harry climbed into his own bed before lifting the lenses to his eyes and fiddling with the knobs. Immediately, it began a playback of some of Harry’s dives from their training earlier than afternoon, and Harry twisted and turned the dials to replay them over and over again, in slow motion and then full speed. At first, he couldn’t believe this player was him until he slowed it down. Did he really move like that? He’d never seen himself like this before. His posture on the broom was as perfect as he’d seen Viktor using earlier that day, and the control was incredible. Was this really what others saw when he flew? He couldn’t stop the wide grin from breaking out on his face.

He laid the omnioculars aside, deeply affected by what he’d seen, all the more so for Evan being the one to show him. The fact that he’d thought of this, carried it out, focused so intently on him …

Harry turned his head to the other bed, seeing Evan was lying watching him. As he noticed Harry looking, he quickly turned away to face the wall, lifting the sheets so they covered everything except the tip of his blond head.

_Is this how Evan sees me_ , Harry wondered incredulously, as he began to drift off to sleep, head still facing Evan’s bed.


	12. Photographs and Grindylows

The following morning Fowler walked in on them all in the dining room while they were having breakfast with a scowl on his face.

“The last of the official team robes have arrived,” he announced, folding his arms. There was a dramatic pause.

“And this is the end of the world?” Aardash asked tentatively, causing Fowler to narrow his eyes.

“It means the photographers have descended,” he said, tapping his foot impatiently. “It’s time for the official team portrait.”

“We’ve already done one of those! Two weeks ago!” Nate didn’t look happy, and Harry could see why. Just that morning, on his daily jog, Nate had once more been bitten by the garden jarvey and his nose had swelled to twice its normal size.

“Not with the two new players,” Fowler said, jerking his head irritably towards Harry and Evan as though this was all their fault. “Official EAQ photographer is downstairs and there’s one from the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly,_ and a couple sporting ones as well.”

“Can’t they just wait till the press conference tomorrow?” Emmy grumbled. “They’ll be taking photos then anyway!”

“Not of you in team robes they won’t,” Fowler said. He twitched his misshapen nose. “Publicity’s good and all, but I swear, if they make us miss _one minute_ of practice time, I’ll hex them. I _despise_ photoshoots.”

Harry could not say he blamed him. His only experience of a photoshoot had not been a pleasant one. At least Rita Skeeter wouldn’t be at this one.

As the pictures would be taken down at the stadium, they all rushed the rest of their breakfast and headed down as quickly as they could with their brooms, passing the photographers on the way, who nudged each other excitedly, each one wearing an emerald security bracelet and a pointed hat with the word PRESS emblazoned on it. They also passed some members of the Swedish team who did not seem happy that they were being chucked off the pitch at their normal training time. Fowler arranged to pay back their lost time with a very begrudging attitude.

Once at the stadium, the team showed Harry to the changing rooms which had been assigned to the England team and which he hadn’t entered before, having always gotten changed up at the Lodge. Inside, there was a row of benches on which were sitting seven identical boxes, each one with the logo of Quality Quidditch Supplies on it.

“All handmade without magic,” Becca said to him, as she opened her own box. “Seems a bit of a waste to me to get new robes for every game, but there you go.”

Harry turned to the box with his own name on it with a thrill of excitement. He removed the lid and pulled aside some delicate tissue paper to reveal a set of exquisitely made official Quidditch robes in flowing folds of snow white and vivid scarlet. Almost breathless, he lifted out the robes, marvelling at how strong, yet still soft the material was. The texture was almost like silk and would serve him well when reaching his top speeds. The official England crest was on the left breast, three dragons clutching Quidditch balls in their claws, with the words _European Championship Final 1996_ stitched underneath. Turning the material over, he saw his name on the back in dazzling gold thread.

“I know you’re only fifteen, mate, but surely we don’t have to show you how to put on robes,” Aardash quipped, grinning at him as he saw Harry had stood looking at them for several minutes. “They go over your head, you don’t just stare at them.”

“Leave him alone, Dash,” Emmy said, rolling her eyes. She winked at Harry. “I was the same when I got my first set. Think I slept in them for a week.”

“A week, Em? Think there’s some dodgy folks on the black market catering to sleazy old warlocks who’d pay hand over fist to get their hands on those!”

Laughing off his momentary embarrassment as Emmy rolled her eyes at Aardash, Harry began to pull them on, admiring how close fitting they were yet how much freedom of movement he had. Despite the thinness of the material, he felt comfortably warm, as though the fabric itself magically adjusted to his body heat, which, he reminded himself, it probably did. Light enough not to impede his flying, yet still not too thin to make him feel the cold up in the air. He only wished his Gryffindor robes were of such high quality. Team robes at Hogwarts were usually passed down to the next generation of players, with only a few minor adjustments to make them fit. Harry’s were severely frayed by now.

Once dressed, he looked around the changing room and got another wave of exhilaration as he saw everyone else dressed in the team kit, just as he’d seen them in all the photos in the _Daily Prophet_ before he arrived. He really was part of the team now.

Evan was also looking around, a similar expression on his own face. He caught Harry’s eye and smiled, his cheeks flushing.

Fowler barged in and grumpily ordered them all out onto the pitch to reduce the amount of lost training time they had to pay back to the Swedish team, and they did as asked, Emmy checking her hair in the mirror one last time and Nate rubbing his nose mournfully, having tried various spells to try and make it shrink back to its normal size.

They marched onto the pitch in brilliant sunshine and Harry could almost imagine this was match day itself, but for the lack of spectators. The crowd of photographers were waiting, and an excited ripple passed through them as they saw the team approaching.

A bench had been placed on the pitch with a carefully chosen background of the stadium for the photos, and the team were directed towards this after depositing their brooms on the sidelines. The back row had Evan standing on the far left, the three Chasers next to him, and Fowler on the right, with the two Beaters in the front and Harry sitting in the centre of the first row between them. Fowler stalked up in front of them as they took their places.

“Watson, get those things out of your face,” he barked.

Nate scowled as he tucked his dreadlocks behind his ear, having brought them forward to try and conceal his swollen nose.

“Haynes, stop that yawning. Khatri, take that ridiculous looking grin off your face. Potter, do something to fix your hair.”

Harry tried to pat his hair down to appease Fowler, despite knowing it was futile. He could hear Aardash chortling next to him.

Once Fowler was finally satisfied, he took his own position and glowered at the photographers, all of whom seemed uncertain as to whether to ask him to smile or not.

It was a long process, and Harry’s cheeks were soon aching from the smiles he was forcing himself to give as photographer after photographer stepped forwards to take a series of photos, occasionally yelling out instructions for them to move closer together or darting forwards to adjust someone’s robes or reposition their hands. Harry felt rather like a ragdoll being repositioned every which way imaginable, or like some sort of unwilling model.

After they were finally done, the photographers had them mount their brooms for a team photo in the air, the photographers following them up on borrowed brooms and wobbling slightly as they pointed their cameras at them,

Then it was time for the individual photographs which took yet more time as the photographers wanted a static one on the ground of the player holding their broom, one in the air and an action shot. Harry and the others waited at the side as these were done one by one, with the photographers seeming to take a long time on Emmy, who tossed her hair and winked at the camera to encourage them, being uncharacteristically flirtatious. Despite being a serious player, she also knew how much money she made off of selling her image. Harry knew these photos would soon be plastered over every boy’s dormitory at Hogwarts.

When it came to Harry, they again spent a lot of time on him, flashing picture after picture until he was almost blinded. The novelty of wearing the robes and having official photos taken had now entirely worn off, and he couldn’t wait to get back into his training robes and take to the air. It struck Harry at some point that these photographs of him would soon be being made into posters and put into programmes, or even transferred onto tiny little models, as he’d seen at the Quidditch World Cup. The thought was as strange as it was exciting.

Then came yet more photos, with the three Chasers having one and the two Beaters, and then one of Fowler on his own; only one, because he’d glared at them when they’d asked for more.

Before they were dismissed however, the lead photographer asked for one more.

“The two new players,” he said, making the others nod excitedly. “Since they’re the youngest. Everyone’s _dying_ to learn more about them!”

Evan and Harry exchanged a glance and stepped up. They stood side by side with a gap between them at first, but the photographer shook his head. He came forwards and readjusted them until they were far closer, and their shoulders were touching, angling them slightly so they were facing away from each and then turning their heads, making them almost back to back.

Happy, the photographer stepped back to take the picture, unaware that by putting the two of them into contact he’d started a rapid fluttering of Harry’s heart. He was painfully aware of Evan’s shoulder pressing against his own, the heat of his flesh through the thin material, the sound of his breathing. Harry felt such a rush of feeling he did not even need to fake the smile on his face. He was almost disappointed when the photographers were done and they had to step away from each other.

“Two hours!” Fowler moaned as they headed back up to the Lodge after the shoot. “Two bloody hours we’ve to pay back to those damn Swedes. Training won’t start till four! All for a few poncey photos!”

None of the team dared say anything to him in this mood. He stormed off back to the Lodge, probably to rage at some EAQ official while the others, actually quite pleased at having an extended break, sought to make best use of it. Becca and Nate were soon walking off towards the gardens, hand in hand, while Elias and Aardash spoke cheerfully about whipping up some souffles. Emmy mentioned something about heading to the pool, leaving Harry and Evan alone.

“Want to go for a walk?” Evan asked him.

Still feeling a little unnerved at his reaction to being close to Evan at the photoshoot, Harry nevertheless found himself nodding, and was soon following Evan off into the woods.

They did not speak for at least half an hour, but Harry did not mind. The walk, though tough in places across uneven ground which rose and fell steeply, was refreshing, and he enjoyed the sensation of being under the cool leaves after the stifling warmth of the morning. The silences between them now were becoming less awkward, and far more comforting, as Harry realised that Evan was perfectly happy for there to be no conversation at all. He was someone, it seemed, who preferred to watch and listen than chatter inanely. Harry found he was becoming quite appreciative of that.

They came across a small river which cut its way through the trees like a sparkling blue ribbon in the July sunlight. Evan stopped by its banks, taking a seat on a rock which protruded slightly into the water. He bent over and scooped up some of the water to splash it over his face, the droplets running down his skin like crystal beads reflecting the light. Harry watched the progress of those beads as they crossed his tanned cheeks, suddenly mesmerised.

Evan looked up and smiled. “Come on, sit down. It’s a beautiful day.”

Harry joined him on an adjacent rock and looked out over the river with him, closing his eyes and soaking in the sunlight. This was one thing he had not done at the Dursleys, not since Sirius died. Here, that dark little bedroom in Privet Drive and all the misery that came with it seemed a million miles away.

Evan nudged him suddenly, and Harry opened his eyes to see Evan pointing to a point in the water before them.

“Grindylows,” he said quietly, “you see?”

Harry peered closer and indeed soon saw a couple of familiar looking little creatures lurking in the river weeds. Evan was grinning.

“I’ve never seen any before,” he said, a new animation lighting up his eyes. “How amazing!”

Harry laughed, pleased at the lively expression he was seeing for the first time. “The lake at Hogwarts is full of them. Some of them tried to grab me during the Second Task and almost pulled me down.”

Evan looked at him with awe. “How much danger do you get yourself in?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “More than I should probably tell you.”

Evan shook his head with a sigh and looked back at the Grindylows. “Well, they haven’t harmed _me_ yet. I love reading about creatures like this. Magical things from all over the world. I’ve travelled a lot and seen quite a few, but there’s still some on my list I’ve yet to tick off.”

“You’ve travelled?” Harry asked. He felt a twinge of jealousy. “I haven’t been anywhere. This is my first time outside of Britain.”

“Really? I’ve been loads of places,” Evan said, suddenly excitable. “All across Europe and Asia mostly, but I did spend some time in Nigeria too.”

“Why did you travel so much?” Harry asked.

Evan’s excitement dampened a little. He hesitated for a moment, biting his lip, before apparently deciding to go ahead. “You remember how I said I was hurt when I was little? Well, my parents took me lots of places to get me help. But we never stayed anywhere long, except maybe Nepal.”

Harry was more curious than ever about this mysterious incident when he was a child but could tell he was not comfortable talking about it, so dropped it.

“Must have been hard moving so much,” Harry said instead, “can’t have had much time for friends.”

“No,” Evan said wistfully, gazing into the water. “I guess …” He stole half a glance at Harry before continuing, cheeks turning pinker, “… I guess I’ve always been a bit different. I liked to say I was a loner, but I think I was just lonely.”

Evan flushed deeper and lowered his head. “I don’t relate well to others, as I’m sure you guessed. I just find it awkward and never know what to say, so I don’t say much. Maybe it’s because I was kept out of school and away from others for so long, I don’t know.”

He turned his head slightly, looking anxious. “I hope you don’t think I was being rude that first day when I wasn’t there to meet you. I heard Fowler say to ‘meet Potter when he arrives’ but I didn’t really interpret it right; I thought that could mean any time the day you arrived. That’s the sort of thing I mean. I don’t work well with others.”

“Of course, I didn’t think that,” Harry said, though, privately thinking that this was fairly close to the mark of how he’d thought of him that first day. “And I don’t think you work badly with others either. You’re part of the team, right?”

Evan sent him a crooked smile. “Keepers don’t do much teamwork.”

“Not true,” Harry said, remembering what Viktor had said. “The whole team has to work together, or nothing works.”

He could see Evan didn’t totally believe him, and it genuinely upset Harry to see him so dismissive of himself. He had a sudden wild urge to reach out and put his arm around him.

“I don’t have any friends,” Evan admitted, blushing again as though this was some terrible failure, “not one. Most people just kind of dismiss me as being a bit awkward and unfriendly. No one … no one really took an interest in me. Until you, that is.”

Harry stared at him a moment, heart pounding in his chest as he observed how shy Evan had suddenly started to seem after saying that. Something warm had blossomed inside him. He was about to say something before Evan laughed lightly, trying to dispel his awkwardness.

“I suppose that sounds really pathetic.”

“No,” Harry said immediately, making him look up. “It reminds me of someone. Me.”

“ _You?”_ Evan said in disbelief. “But you’re so different. You have loads of friends, right? I mean, you’re the most famous teenager in the world.”

“Doesn’t mean I have loads of friends,” Harry said, sighing. “I’ve got some now, some _really_ good ones. But before I went to Hogwarts, I had no one. My aunt and uncle hate magic and they were really … well, they didn’t exactly make me feel welcome. My cousin was a huge bully and I didn’t have anyone to talk to at all. I was so alone, and I didn’t even know magic was real, so I didn’t understand why I kept doing weird things and why it made my uncle so angry. The Dursleys thought if they kept me miserable enough, they’d, uh, ‘stamp out that dangerous nonsense’. Ron was my first friend—I met him on the train to school. And some of the people at school just see the scar and nothing else. They judge me before they know me, like the _Daily Prophet_ did all last year. No one more than me understands what it’s like to have no one, to long for a friend. I count myself lucky every day I managed to make some.”

He felt himself growing hotter as he said this, but knew Evan would not judge, or think him weird. He seldom allowed his miserable childhood to catch up with him, but now he couldn’t help but recall every lonely hour spent in his cupboard wishing for someone to come and take him away, how desperately lonely he’d been.

“I didn’t know that about you. Your childhood.”

“Yeah, well, I try and keep it out the _Daily Prophet_ ,” Harry said bitterly, fiddling with the laces on his shoes. “People assume ‘famous’ means happy, and it couldn’t be further from the truth. Especially these days when I—”

He stopped himself just in time before he began blathering to Evan about the prophecy. He hadn’t realised just how comfortable he was letting himself be with him. That was something he hadn’t even shared with Ron and Hermione yet.

Evan did not press him for details, as Harry had not done for him.

“I think you were very brave, putting up with everything the _Daily Prophet_ said about you,” Evan said, offering a small smile. “Sticking to your story last year when everyone was against you. I admire that.”

Harry thought he might actually be floating a few inches off the rock he was sitting on, his spirits had swelled so rapidly. What did he care about some stupid prophecy; Evan thought he was _brave._ He _admired_ him.

Evan seemed to realise the effect he’d had on him and his smile broadened. He actually had such an incredible smile. His entire face was changed, and a slight dimple formed in his left cheek. It was such a change from the stiff, lifeless looking boy everyone else saw. Get past the initial awkwardness and Evan was one of the nicest guys Harry had ever known. He couldn’t ever imagine talking to Ron like this. Evan brought something out of Harry which didn’t make him afraid to be himself, to let loose how he really felt.

Harry could help but steal a few more glances at him as they sat on their respective rocks listening to the trickle of the water and swaying trees. He looked so _good_ out here; being indoors did him no justice at all. His hair practically shone gold, and his eyes sparkled brightly and caught the light in a fascinating way. His hair fluttered slightly in the breeze, and Harry longed to stretch out his hand and run his fingers through it, to see if it was as soft as it looked. In fact, he longed to just reach out and touch _him._

Dragging himself from these confusing thoughts, Harry deliberately looked away, swallowing hard. He gazed up at the sky and the white clouds which were scattered over the periwinkle blue expanse. His eyes caught one cloud in particular, which seemed to be undulating in the breeze. The rippling movements reminded him forcibly of the swirling white mist inside the prophecies in the Department of Mysteries.

He gasped aloud as he again felt a stab of pain to the heart as he remembered those stupid prophecies, which Sirius had lost his life over, and the one which threatened to hang over Harry’s head the rest of his life like a death sentence.

“Harry? You okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry, recovering slightly and not wanting to get into all that just now. Evan was watching him in some concern. “I just … got hit with a bad memory.”

Evan grimaced. “I know how that feels,” he said ominously. He hesitated for a moment. “Do you want me to teach you to meditate? That always helps me.”

“Really?”

Harry had never really understood how meditation had worked and had pretty much dismissed it around the same time he’d dismissed Divination as being a bit wishy-washy, but the encouraging look on Evan’s face convinced him.

“Yeah, okay then,” Harry said, making Evan grin again.

At the very least, it would mean he got to spend even more time in Evan’s confusing yet comforting company.


	13. Questions

Harry was fidgeting with the tablecloth in front of him as he waited with the rest of the team in the Press Room of the stadium, all sitting at a long table emblazoned with the English flag and facing a set of double doors behind a tangle of empty chairs. The press conference was due to begin any moment, and Harry couldn’t shake his nerves.

As a matter of course, Harry had always avoided journalists, with the exception of the _Quibbler_ article last year, and thought of sitting here waiting for them to pounce was disturbing. He felt his anxiety levels rise through the roof, and he desperately tried to employ some of the calming breathing techniques that Evan had shown him beside the river, but with limited success. Just as the previous day, with Evan so close, as he was now, he was simply unable to relax and stop his heart beating so fast.

Harry’s leg jiggled up and down constantly, wishing these journalists would just hurry up so he could get it over with. A wizard was in one corner adjusting some equipment which looked like an antiquated audio system. The conference was being broadcast live across the Wizarding Wireless Network, another first for Harry. He could easily imagine the entire Weasley family right now gathered around their battered old radio waiting to listen to him. The thought was not reassuring.

His leg bounced up and down more, beginning to jostle the table until he felt a warm hand suddenly press against his knee. Harry jumped and turned sharply towards Evan on his right side.

“Relax,” he muttered, smiling softly. “It’ll be fine.”

Harry nodded dumbly, too astonished to talk. It was another agonisingly long moment before Evan removed his hand from his knee. It did not start to tremble again.

The door burst open and Harry prepared himself for the worst, but it was only Fowler. He stomped up to the table with a newspaper under one arm.

“The vultures are on their way,” he announced to the team. “Be prepared for tricky questions but let me do most of the work. Got it?”

“Aww,” Aardash pouted, but he was the only one appearing disappointed.

Fowler threw the paper down towards Evan. “Don’t you ever smile, boy?” he asked bluntly. “A gazillion pictures taken of you yesterday and only one has you smiling. At least _try_ and look happy that you’re on an international Quidditch team today, will you?”

Evan nodded, but said nothing as Fowler took his own seat in the centre. Harry peered at the _Daily Prophet_ before him. The entire front page was taken up with glorious colour photographs of the team, the largest being the group photo. Surrounding it were smaller images; the one of them all in the air, one of Emmy blowing kisses at the photographer, a dour looking Evan before the goalposts, Harry on his own, one of Aardash and Elias with their Beaters bats raised in the air, an action shot of each of the other Chasers … but the one which drew Harry’s attention was the one of the two of them, standing almost back to back. Harry looked as deliriously happy as he had remembered being when the photograph was taken. And next to him, Evan was also smiling broadly, showing off the incredible smile he had hitherto only reserved for him alone.

Harry glanced up at Evan, seeing he was staring with some fascination at his glass of water and was prevented from saying anything as the doors burst open again and journalists began to surge into the room. Harry remained sitting rigidly as they took their seats, seeing many camera flashes going off and the puffs of smoke which came from them beginning to filter through the air. He’d never seen this many before. His nerves returned as he noticed almost all of the journalists were looking towards him, quills at the ready.

A hush fell as the wizard with the wireless equipment stood up again and tapped his wand on the machinery, which began to hum slightly. He turned away and made a sign for everyone to remain quiet. A small device, shaped almost like a lightbulb and made of a dull crystal, appeared in his hand.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to our press conference today here at the European Championship stadium in beautiful County Cork, Ireland,” the wizard began, confidently speaking into the crystal, and Harry suddenly recognised his voice as the announcer from some of the radio shows he had heard while staying at the Weasley’s. “I am your host, Desmond Derricks, and I’m here with the England National Quidditch team and their manager, Theo “The Fouler” Fowler. We have Chasers Emmeline Sanderson, Rebecca Haynes and Nathaniel Watson, Beaters Elias Parker and Aardash Khatri, and of course, who can forget the surprise new last-minute additions to the team, Keeper Evander Turner and Seeker Harry Potter.”

There was a ripple of applause at this, and Harry started to feel slightly sick. Derricks tapped his wand to the speaking crystal, and exact duplicates suddenly went zooming towards each of the players and hung in the air in front of them. Harry eyed his nervously, hoping he wouldn’t have to speak much.

Derricks began again, “This European Championship final is one certainly destined to go down in the history books, with already a lot of controversy, shock decisions and unrivalled interest. This is, of course, a brand new national side, which has been formed after the disaster of their 1994 World Cup bid—390-10 to the Transylvanian side, what an embarrassment—and this team has certainly made up for that, storming their way through the knock out stages and semi-finals without breaking a sweat. Some would say it’s all down to one man, manager Theodoric Fowler, and now we’re going to hear from him, folks.”

Derricks looked expectantly at Fowler, who shifted unhappily and lifted a sheet of parchment, speaking into the crystal before him as he read.

“I have little to say,” he began, somewhat bluntly, “other than to express my gratitude to the EAQ and the Irish Ministry of Magic for the excellent work they’ve done on organising this tournament, and to of course state that I am grateful every second of every day for the hard work and dedication shown by every single member of my team. Every one of them has more talent in their little finger than Celestina Warbeck has in her entire body. We’ve been training hard and I’m confident that the match will be ours for the taking.”

“Well, that was short and sweet,” said Derricks, obviously a little put out that Fowler wasn’t elaborating. “But let us address the hippogriff in the room, which your statement has left out—the two new players. Both teenagers, one only fifteen and still at school, and neither having played a professional match in its entirety, let alone an international one. Did you not think this was a bit of a risk?”

As one, the journalists leaned in, most flicking their eyes between Fowler and Harry and Evan. The urge to be sick increased.

Fowler scowled at Derricks. “Yeah, it was a risk,” he acknowledged. “But one I’m damn glad I took. You won’t be asking stupid questions like that when you see them fly.”

Derrick’s moustache twitched. “But still, so young and inexperienced! Rumour has it you hadn’t even seen Potter in action before hiring him. I certainly—”

“Listen here, you,” Fowler said, glowering at the man. “I don’t care what your opinion is. Turner is one of the greatest Keepers I’ve ever seen, and Potter flies better than players twice his age and with three times his experience. You’ll all be laughing out the other side of your faces come match day. They might be the youngest, but I’ll be damned if they don’t have just as much skill, if not more, as the rest of the team.”

Harry was sure his face must be bright red by now and thought Evan’s must be also. Although it was nice to have Fowler defend him like that, he dreaded what would happen if he couldn’t live up to all his lofty promises.

Derricks looked distinctly ruffled and turned to the other journalists in the room with an air of great injury.

“I’ll open the floor to questions now.”

Immediately, about a hundred hands went into the air.

“Here’s where they’ll all ask about you,” whispered Aardash on his left side, winking at him. “They won’t care about us; we’ve done it a hundred times before. And none of us has a cool looking scar.”

Either not seeing how uncomfortable Harry was with this, or just treating it all as a joke, Aardash looked away, leaving Harry to dread his first question. Which, sure enough, was not far away.

“ _Daily Prophet_ with a question for Mr. Potter,” said a witch in the front row, a silver crystal having gone soaring towards her. “All this excitement has come so swiftly after the events of the mysterious battle at the Ministry in June. Do you have any comment on that?”

Harry’s stomach sank; he had known this would come up. Evan tilted his head slightly to look at him.

“No,” Harry said, awkwardly, hoping the little crystal would pick up his voice. “I’m not going to talk about that.”

The witch looked disappointed, but pressed on. “What about the recent loss of your godfather, Sirius Black? Has that spurred you on in any way?”

Harry’s guts seemed to slide even lower until he felt like he could just melt away. A pain had erupted in his chest. “I don’t want to talk about Sirius.”

“Well, what _do_ you want to talk about?”

Harry’s leg had once more started jiggling under the table, and he had run out of words. Before he could come across as a complete idiot, a hand had settled on his knee again, and this time, did not remove itself.

“Quidditch, of course. Isn’t that what we’re all here for?” Evan said, giving the witch one of his best passive expressions.

“Very well,” the witch huffed. “Would you say your experience on the Gryffindor Quidditch team has prepared you for the ferocity of this competition? My sources say you have not played a competitive game of Quidditch since November last year. Is that true?”

This, Harry could speak about, even if he was still anxious. Evan’s hand still remained on his knee as he began talking, “Yes, it is. I was banned from Quidditch by the High Inquisitor, Dolores Umbridge, when she was still telling everyone I was lying about You-Know-Who’s return. But I’ve still got some experience which I think is useful. I’ve never missed the Snitch unless I was injured and I’ve had my share of tough matches. The training I’ve had here’s only made me better.”

“ _Quidditch Monthly_ , here, Mr. Potter,” said another wizard, jumping up. He sneered deeply, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What sort of ‘tough’ circumstances have you come up against in a school match?”

Harry felt his nerves disappear slightly in his chagrin at the man’s tone. “Well, there was my first ever game when a Death Eater was trying to bewitch my broom and throw me off but I still managed to hold on and catch the Snitch in my mouth,” he began, bolstered by the feeling of Evan’s hand still resting on him. “And second year where there was a rogue Bludger following me the whole game and smashed my arm in but I caught the Snitch in my left hand by holding on to the broom with my knees. Then third year, when I caught the Snitch seconds after casting the Patronus Charm against what I thought were Dementors invading the pitch. And then fourth year during the Triwizard Tournament when I managed to steal a Golden Egg from between the legs of a Hungarian Horntail on my broom, but then again, that’s not Quidditch so it doesn’t really count, right?”

The wizard stared at him, looking as though Harry had just hit him in the face with a Bludger. The journalists were all eagerly scribbling away with glee, and beside him, Aardash was shaking with silent laughter.

Another witch had risen as the speaking crystal soared towards her. “ _Witch Weekly_ , Mr. Potter _._ How well have you settled into the team? Have you adjusted to the trials of a professional environment? Is there a member of the team you’re particularly friendly with?”

All the team along the table turned in their chairs to look at Harry at that question, looking interested, and clearly amused. Aardash was waggling his eyebrows at him, mouthing the words ‘pick me, pick me’.

Ignoring this, Harry looked at the witch. “They’re all a great team,” he said, making them all tut softly in pretended disappointment. “I’ve been really lucky to work with them and they’ve been really supportive in helping me adjust and everything. We have a laugh.”

“There’s no one you get on with more than the rest?”

“Uh …” Harry said, aware of Aardash on his left, batting his eyelashes at him. He shot him a quick glare before looking back. “Not really … we all hang out together. But, uh … I guess, me and Evan probably spend the most time together. We’re roommates.”

Evan’s hand on his knee tightened slightly. Harry glanced at him from the corner of his eye before looking away again hurriedly.

“Betrayed!” Aardash gasped in a loud stage whisper, making the room laugh. The witch turned to him next.

“Mr. Khatri, what do _you_ make of these unusual circumstances?”

“I _adore_ unusual circumstances,” Aardash said, shooting her a dazzling smile as more cameras went off. “And these are the greatest ones yet. We’re playing the best Quidditch we’ve ever played thanks to these two teenagers.”

“You approve then?”

“Of course!” Aardash turned and winked at the two of them. “Evan’s got a bit of a weird Keeping style, granted, but he’s sure as hell making things hard for those three up there. And Harry … well, he’s a hell of a lot more fun than Crawford was, and smarter too since he hasn’t managed to get himself poisoned by Karlsson yet. Wait till you see these two kids fly. You. Will. Be. Amazed.”

Harry smiled, grateful for his support.

More hands went up into the air but Fowler stood up suddenly. “Anyone got a question that _isn’t_ about Potter or Turner joining the team?”

Most went down.

“Any that don’t involve the words ‘Ministry’ or ‘Chosen One’?”

More dropped.

“And any that is actually about Quidditch?”

There was now only one hand raised, the wizard belonging to it looking at Fowler with trepidation.

“Well?”

Trembling slightly, the wizard stood up and asked his question.

“Uh, _Quidditch Illustrated_ here, any information about what tactics you think you’ll be deploying against the Swedish and their strong front three?”

Fowler looked at the man as though he was mad.

“I’m not telling you that. There’s bloody Swedes listening at every door, you stupid man.”

The wizard sat down again, deflated.

What followed was a flurry of more questions, though now distributed more or less equally across the entire team. With the exception of Evan, who spoke in short, undemonstrative sentences and wasn’t called on often, the others seemed perfectly at ease and answered the many questions which were put to them with little bother. A few more questions came Harry’s way, thankfully this time all about Quidditch, and he answered as best as he could. It seemed to end better than it had started, but Harry was barely able to focus on anything.

Evan’s hand had stayed on his knee the entire press conference.

* * *

“Aardash Khatri, you primping peacock!” Emmy glared at Aardash the moment they ended up back in the rec room. “Do you _have_ to steal the limelight at every press conference?”

“What can I say, the press loves me,” Aardash said, leaning back on his chair and propping up his feet on the coffee table.

“No wonder the way you fawn all over them and flirt with anybody with a pulse.”

“Jealous, Emmy?”

“You wish!” she scowled, folding her arms. “I just wish you’d try and keep the focus on the _whole_ team and not your little personality cult.”

“Come now, Emmy,” he said, flashing her a pearly white grin, “I thought you hated the fact everyone sees you as just a pin-up? Scared about sharing the stage?”

“You are insufferable, Khatri!”

“Don’t you last name me, Sanderson!”

“Enough, you two!” Becca said, rubbing her temples. “If you want to start snogging each other, go next door and just do it. Leave the rest of us in peace to recover from all those camera flashes and stupid questions.”

Ignoring their indignant splutters, she turned to Harry and Evan. “You two okay? The first one can be daunting.”

“Yeah, fine,” Harry said, ignoring the sinking feeling he’d had all morning since those reporters had asked him about the Ministry and Sirius and expressed their doubts in him. “I’ve dealt with stuff like this before.”

“Yeah, that Rita Skeeter’s a right cow,” Becca said, wrinkling her nose. “You know she once wrote that I only got on the Wimbourne Wasps because I was sleeping with Nate? I mean, I was on the team first! If anything, it was the other way around!”

“Uh huh, I play the long game,” Nate said, chuckling and pecking her on the cheek. “Best decision I ever made!”

“You okay, Evan?” Becca asked, looking to him. “You didn’t say much.”

“They didn’t ask much,” Evan shrugged. “There’s only so many ways to say ‘yeah, I’m young’.”

“All in all, I thought it could’ve been worse,” Elias said, yawning. “They weren’t as vicious as they usually were.”

“Just wait and see what happens if we lose,” Aardash said. He mimed swiping at Emmy with splayed fingers. “That’s when the claws come out!”

“Grow up, Dash,” she said, dodging his attack and going to sit across the room. “And we’re not going to lose!”

“Yeah, Harry’s going to catch the Snitch,” Aardash said. He gave a mock stern look towards Harry. “Why didn’t you ever say you once caught the Snitch in under five minutes? Or in your mouth of all things? And both when you were eleven?”

“It was just luck,” Harry shrugged, not feeling much better about the whole thing yet. “Right place at the right time.”

“Don’t let Fowler hear you saying that,” Nate said darkly.

“Speaking of the Supreme Grouchy One, what was up with him today? He actually pointed his wand at that witch from that Spanish paper asking about Karlsson!”

Harry filtered out their conversation. A darkness had come over him, and he suddenly wished he was anywhere but here.

Excusing himself quickly, he rose and headed to the door. Grabbing his Invisibility Cloak on the way, he rushed downstairs, intending on heading straight to that empty clearing in the woods for an hour or two before training.

He desperately needed to see if any of that meditation of Evan’s actually worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading this story! Please leave a comment to let me know what you think :)


	14. A Bracelet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in uploading! Life is hectic. Story will definitely not be abandoned though. It's all finished and each chapter just waiting on some editing.

The clearing was as peaceful as it had been the last time, though in the daylight it looked far less mysterious and much more welcoming. Harry sat cross-legged in the centre, close to where he and Evan had sat the other night and attempted to replicate the meditation that Evan had taught him yesterday.

It was not going well.

Thoughts of Sirius, the prophecy, and even the old guilt over Cedric Diggory was beginning to overwhelm him, and despite his best attempts, he could not feel any calmer. And that was before he even thought about the upcoming game and his fear he’d make a fool of himself.

A cracking twig roused his attention and he turned his head to see Evan approaching. He winced.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to distract you if you were trying to meditate,” he said, apologetically. “I just thought … maybe you’d like some company, but I can go if you want—”

“I don’t mind,” Harry said straight away. As Evan had asked him to stay when it had been Harry intruding on him in this very clearing, Harry now wished for Evan to remain. “Stay.”

Evan came to sit down, but instead of by his side, he sat facing him, crossing his legs. He started pulling tufts of grass from the ground and twirling them around his fingers.

“The press conference _did_ bother you then?”

Harry nodded. “They asked about Sirius,” he said, explaining rather unnecessarily, for Evan had been right at his side. “And the Ministry. It’s … too painful to talk about yet.”

To his shame, he felt tears building behind his eyes. “I just miss him,” he said thickly. “It sounds daft, because we didn’t get that much time together really, but I just always liked the thought of having someone out there who cared for me like … like a father. I never really felt that before.”

“I can get that,” Evan said, examining the grass minutely. “I lost someone like that once.”

“How did you get over it?” Harry asked desperately.

Evan grimaced. “You don’t, not really,” he said. “But it gets easier. I know that must sound really not comforting, but I swear it does. It won’t hurt as much after a while.”

“It all just gets so much at times,” Harry said, also taking to pulling up strands of grass. “The pressure. It builds up and up until I could almost scream. Sometimes I think I’m fine, then something happens which brings me back down. Like there’s something haunting my every step.”

He knew exactly what the _something_ was; Voldemort. But he didn’t want to introduce that name to the conversation. Not here, in this place. Not with Evan.

Evan didn’t respond for a few minutes. He had started weaving the strands of grass together, plaiting them together with an intense look of concentration on his face, his fingers dancing as he wove. He seemed to be building up to something.

“I know people telling you that they understand is probably annoying,” Evan said, his voice a little quieter. “But I do. Because … the thing that happened when I was young haunts me too. I’ve never told anyone about it.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Harry said immediately, but Evan shook his head, drawing a deep breath.

“I have to.” He seized some more strands as he continued weaving. “I was seven, and staying at my grandparent’s house while my parents were away; they both worked for the Appleby Arrows’ publicity team. My nan, she was a bit forgetful, you know? Got muddled quite often. One day, she picked up her wand to do something, but she lifted it the wrong way. The spell backfired. Badly. It blew apart half the house. She was killed instantly and I was crushed under the rubble.”

Harry felt a swell of sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

Evan didn’t look at him, just continued with the weaving as though wanting to get through it quickly. “I was trapped for hours,” he went on. “Until my grandpa came home. I was in St. Mungo’s for months. They weren’t sure I’d walk again, or even talk. It took some new experimental spells and potions to get me back to normal.”

Evan ripped up more grass, a little more violently than before. “I needed therapy for ages. Physio and the mental kind. It all happened around the time I was starting to show signs of magic. I repressed everything so much it caused my magic to go haywire. I was terrified in case—in case it happened again. So it burst out of me at odd moments, when I was having a panic attack or a nightmare, or any strong emotions really. I was dangerous to be around, for others and myself, and I was constantly injuring myself. Anything could set me off, a sight, a smell … It got to the point where my parents decided to isolate me completely to stop anything from upsetting me. They kept me away from people and became ridiculously overprotective.”

Harry listened with increasing horror. He did not attempt to speak as Evan continued.

“They took me all over the world to try and help me, and some wizards in Nepal were great and taught me to control my emotions and magic better by meditating. I was getting so much better and my parents thought I could maybe go to Hogwarts, but then my grandfather died.”

A spasm of pain crossed Evan’s face. “He was the one I was closest to. My parents were so strict and suffocating. He was the only one who realised I needed to have a bit of fun. He taught me to fly, though my parents weren’t happy about it. When he died, I got worse, and they cancelled the idea of me going to school.”

“They didn’t want me to learn magic; they thought it might make things worse. But I was desperate to learn since my grandpa had always tried to stop me being afraid of magic by showing me all these amazing tricks he could do. They found me reading his old spellbooks under the covers at night and agreed to home school me.”

Evan’s voice had started to grow a little stronger now, as if speaking it all out loud was making him more at ease. His weaving grew more intense. “I got loads better, but they still wouldn’t send me to school, and I wasn’t really keen on it either. Guess I was just scared of having to pretend to be normal after so long. The only thing that made me feel close to it was flying. There, I’m on my own. I don’t have to worry about feeling trapped or crushed with people pressing up against me. I can focus, relax.”

“My social skills then were even worse than they are now, so my dad contacted the manager of the Appleby Arrows from his old job and asked if I could spend some time training with the team for some fun since I enjoyed it so much. The team helped me feel more at ease with others, at least, a little. I started to get good, really good. The manager wanted to put me on the reserve team when I was fifteen, but my parents were against it at first. Took a lot of convincing on my part. But I won out and I signed with them. I trained with the squad and a couple weeks after my sixteenth birthday I got the chance to play when we played the Chudley Cannons and our Keeper was knocked out by a Bludger. One of Elias’ actually, so I suppose I should thank him for that. Fowler was at the match scouting for the national team and signed me up afterwards for the reserves.”

Evan let out a long breath. “Well, that’s my sad story. Not quite the same as yours, but I can at least understand feeling lonely, and like there’s too much all going on at once. I’ve had some really dark days.”

Harry didn’t know what to say for a full minute. He was touched that Evan had confided so much in him, and his heart broke for him. Harry at least had no memory of seeing his parents dying, unlike Evan who must be scarred by what he’d witnessed. They’d both suffered, in different ways perhaps, but Harry related to him much more than he’d related to anyone, and thought Evan felt the same way about him.

“Thank you for telling me,” Harry said, unable to say anything else. “That can’t have been easy.”

Evan shook his head, apparently now overcome. To Harry’s surprise, and despair, he saw a tear leaking out of his startlingly blue eyes. Without stopping to think, Harry reached out and brushed it aside. Evan’s eyes widened and his breath hitched. Harry froze, finger still gently resting on his cheek. His skin was so soft …

Clearing his throat, Harry lifted it away quickly. _What the hell are you doing?_

He brought his hand downwards instead, coming to rest it on Evan’s arm, which he judged to be a safer option. This was a friendly gesture, right?

Evan’s eyes dropped to the hand, and Harry kept it there, looking down at it himself. “Thanks for the press conference,” he said, cheeks burning. “You—you helped me feel better about it all. When you … you know.”

_When you kept your hand on my knee_ , Harry thought, remembering back to how _right_ that had felt. It was like now; with his hand on Evan’s arm, everything seemed alright.

Evan’s own hand came up and gently rested on Harry’s, sending something like a jolt of electricity through it. He lifted it from his arm, and his fingers began dancing around his wrist. When he drew his hand back, Harry saw that he’d attached a thin woven grass band around his wrist, right next to his emerald security bracelet.

“They match your eyes,” Evan said with a shrug, running his fingers over both bracelets.

Harry was mesmerised for a moment as he watched Evan’s long fingers encircling his wrist. When Evan finally dropped his hand, he too ran his fingers over the grass bracelet, too emotional to speak.

Evan exhaled heavily and adjusted position to sit next to Harry. He sniffed loudly.

“Let’s change subject,” he said with a short laugh, “keep our spirits up.”

“Right,” Harry said, though feeling too dazed to contribute anything. “Uh …”

“What about your life at school?” Evan asked, staring off into the distance. “These friends you told me about. What are they like?”

“Erm,” Harry said, trying to force his brain to think. “Well, there’s Ron, my best friend that I mentioned before. He’s a big Cannons fan so he’s not too happy with you for beating them. Sorry. He … uh … he’s a lot of fun. Plays Keeper on the same team as me.”

“He any good?”

Harry winced. “He can be, but he gets nervous easily and lets it get to him. Won the Cup last year though so can get over it when he needs to. His family are really good to me. There’s loads of them and they treat me like one of the family. I spend most of my holidays with them. They’re all coming to the match.”

“Sounds nice,” Evan said, with a faint smile. “What about your other friends?”

“Hermione’s my other best friend. She’s freakily smart. Bit of a stickler for rules but I’d be lost without her …”

For the next little while, Harry babbled on about his friends, teachers and even telling Evan a bit about Malfoy and the other less than pleasant aspects of school. Evan listened to everything with a half-smile on his lips.

“You ever had a girlfriend?” Evan burst out with suddenly. His cheeks were positively pink. “I mean—sorry, of course you must have—you’re Harry Potter! I suppose girls are just falling all over you all the time. Not that I think you’re leading them on or anything—or that you’re a big flirt like Dash is. I was just wondering …”

Harry stared at him, surprised at the change which had come over him and his sudden rambling speech. The subject of girlfriends seemed like a delicate one somehow, and not one Harry wanted to get into with Evan.

“Uh,” he said, unnerved by how uncomfortable he found this, “well … there—there was one girl. Last year. Cho.”

Evan nodded stiffly. He stared straight ahead. His jaw had clenched.

“She … uh, she was Seeker for the Ravenclaw team,” Harry said, not liking this turn of conversation. “We … we’re not—not together anymore.”

_Not that we ever really were together_ , Harry thought, thinking of their disastrous pairing. A year and a half he’d fancied her, but it had all come crashing down so quickly. All because of the shadow of Cedric Diggory hanging over them. That and his own obliviousness to how relationships actually worked.

Evan’s face had twitched slightly at this. He half-glanced at Harry. “A Seeker? You like your Quidditch players then?”

For some reason, this question set off a rising heat on Harry’s face.

“Um, I guess?”

Harry felt the silence grow incredibly awkward. He thought about asking Evan the same question in return, but it didn’t seem right. Besides, if he’d never had any friends before, he doubted he’d ever had a girlfriend.

“I guess you’ll have loads more girls after you now that you’re on the team,” Evan said casually. “You’ll have loads of offers after this. You could have any girl you wanted.”

“I’m not interested in girls,” Harry said, before suddenly cringing and backtracking. “I mean—I’m not really … not really looking for a girlfriend. With, you know, everything that’s going on in the world. Don’t think it’s a good idea to—to get involved with someone.”

“I see,” Evan said, and though a darker look had come into his eyes, his lips had twisted in amusement.

Evan moved so suddenly that Harry’s heart leapt, thinking there was an attack, but all he’d done was leap to his feet.

“We should get back,” Evan said, his voice as rigid as it usually was around the rest of the team. “Training’s in an hour and Fowler will kill us if we’re not there.”

Harry stood up and followed him back to the Players’ Lodge, suddenly much more deflated than he’d been before. As he walked, he twirled the grass bracelet Evan had given him around his wrist.


	15. Sneaking Out

Over the next few days, Fowler pushed the team harder than ever before, until Harry did not leave a single training session without aching from head to foot. The better they seemed to play, the worse Fowler’s mood got as he drove them on, never satisfied. Aardash and Nate had suggested to the rest of the team that they might slip him a sleeping potion or two to give themselves all a bit of a break.

Yet, as training heated up, the fun in the Players’ Lodge increased, almost as if they were all trying desperately to dispel their growing nerves about the approaching game with as much hilarity as possible. There was now not a single meal which passed in which Harry did not leave without having been creased over in laughter several times at the jokes and wild stories being told around the table. Nate and Aardash stepped up their prank game, finally getting Harry with a Ton-Tongue Toffee and even had managed to catch Fowler out with a trick wand, causing more than the usual amount of scowling. This week, he’d also noticed Becca whipping out a camera every so often, snapping images of the team at meals, hanging out in the rec room, being silly on the way up and down from the pitch and generally just acting like idiots. She was a bit of an amateur photographer it seemed, and the steady click of the camera now accompanied most of their gatherings.

Now that it was less than a week before the match, Viktor had moved Harry onto practising the Wronksi Feint on his Firebolt. Harry had by now wrecked several spare brooms and annoyed several Irish wizards in the process, but he had improved dramatically. Though Harry had at first been uneasy about going full speed on his Firebolt for the dives, Viktor had insisted.

“That is the only thing known about your playing,” he had said, when Harry expressed his worries. “That you are fast and a diver. If you go too slow, you make it too obvious you are not actually going after Snitch and that you intend to pull up.”

Harry had been confused at how anyone had known this until he caught a glimpse of one of the glossy programmes in the lobby of the Lodge, which were by now being sold around the rapidly growing campsite.

He seized a copy and ran up to his room to pour through it, grinning at how professional it all looked, amazed at the photographs of himself and the team and how _real_ it was starting to feel. He leafed through several player biographies for both Sweden and England before finding his own double-page spread, one half taken up almost entirely by his smiling official photograph. He read with interest.

_Name: Harry James Potter_

_Born: 31st July 1980_

_Birthplace: Godric’s Hollow, Devon, England _

_Currently living: Little Whinging, Surrey, England_

_Education: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (currently entering sixth year)_

_Team: Gryffindor Quidditch Team (school team)_

_Position played: Seeker_

_Career: Five years playing on school team. No experience in Quidditch League of Britain and Ireland._

_Nicknames: Boy Who Lived. Chosen One._

_Broomstick: Firebolt_

_ Bio: _

_Having been born in the same village as the legendary Bowman Wright, inventor of the Golden Snitch, it is perhaps no surprise Potter has ended up as a Seeker. Though his father is said to have had a successful school career as Chaser, and may have ended up signing with a professional team if not for the last war, Potter had nothing to do with Quidditch until joining Hogwarts after growing up with Muggle relations following the tragic murder of his parents at the age of only fifteen months. This, of course, resulted in his most famous moniker: ‘The Boy Who Lived’._

_Though he started flying relatively late to most other players, Potter wowed from early on. Schoolmates have revealed that during Potter’s very first flying lesson he caught a Remembrall in his hand after a fifty foot dive without injury. Instead of being punished for being on a broom against teacher instructions, Potter was immediately promoted to the Gryffindor Quidditch team where he has excelled ever since, helping the team to victory in the Inter-House Quidditch Cup twice._

_Potter is no stranger to injury in Quidditch. During a particularly dramatic match which took place during a thunderstorm, he fell one-hundred and fifty feet from his broomstick and survived, though at the cost of his Nimbus 2000. This match remains the only time to date that Potter has failed to capture the Snitch._

_Little is as yet officially known of Potter’s playing style, but his appearances for Gryffindor are said by students to be characterised by breakneck speeds, extraordinary broom control and breathtakingly steep dives. This is sure to cause some thrilling moments in the final against Swedish Seeker Jonas Larsson, whose one noted weakness is his manoeuvrability at extended periods of high speed and instead excels in shorter bursts of powerful horizontal acceleration. As for any of Potter’s weaknesses, Quidditch fans will just have to wait and see!_

_ Fun Facts: _

  * _Fastest capture was four minutes, thirty-two seconds_
  * _Once had to painfully regrow all bones in his arm after a nasty Bludger injury_
  * _Is rumoured to be the next Gryffindor team captain_



Harry was grinning even more widely as he finished. Now _this_ was the sort of writing about him that he didn’t mind. It was like he was an actual professional the way they talked about him. He imagined people buying this programme over the next few days, poring over it on the way to the stadium and in their seats, as Hermione had done two years ago, quoting sections of it, learning facts about him that he didn’t actually mind sharing for once. For a change, it was all true, and he was proud of it.

He read over one part again: ‘ _Larsson … whose one noted weakness is his manoeuvrability at extended periods of high speed’._ Viktor was right; if he wanted to convince Larsson the Feint was real and have any chance of making him crash, he had to go at full throttle. It was the perfect opportunity.

The door opened, and Evan entered. Harry, who had been lying flat on his stomach reading on his bed, sat up quickly. Things had been a little more awkward between them since their conversation in the clearing, and Harry wasn’t quite sure where they stood. He’d carefully removed his grass bracelet and tucked it safely away in his trunk, almost as if their burgeoning friendship was dependent on its survival.

“What’s that?” Evan asked.

“The match programme,” Harry said, showing him, eager to get back to easy familiarity with him. “Look.”

Evan came to sit on Harry’s bed and peered down at the programme. Harry held his breath at the sudden proximity. Evan smiled as he read, and then flicked through the book to find his own page. His portrait was a lot less smiley than Harry’s, and his bio was shorter; the author evidently knew little of Evan’s background. It was, however, full of information about his style of playing.

“This is so cool,” Evan said, gazing at it. “It’s really happening, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, knowing exactly what he meant.

He looked up, admiring Evan’s side-on-profile. He really was much more good-looking than his official portrait made him look.

Harry jerked his head away quickly. Where had _that_ come from?

“I’m starting to get a bit nervous now,” Evan admitted, biting his lip as he flipped through the pages. “I’ve never played in front of so many people. I usually avoid all crowds.”

“The campsite’s filling up,” Harry said, nodding. “I heard Kane telling one of the other Aurors. Five days before the match—all the cheaper ticketed people and some of the more expensive have arrived already.”

“Weird thought, isn’t it?” Evan said. “An entire city of people on our doorstep we never see.” He laughed lightly. “You ever heard that story of the Muggle king who walked among his soldiers the evening before battle to hear what they were saying? I almost wish we could do that.”

Harry blinked, hit by a sudden stroke of inspiration. “We can.”

“How?” Evan raised an eyebrow. “The Aurors wouldn’t let us leave, and we’d be mobbed.”

Grinning, Harry jumped from the bed and started rummaging in his trunk. He drew out the Invisibility Cloak and held it up. Evan’s jaw dropped. “Is that—”

“Yep,” Harry said, coming to sit beside him, a sudden excitement inside him. “We can go anywhere we like. Creep up on Fowler, spy on the Swedish, even sneak out to the campsite.”

Evan looked uncertain for a moment, before he too was grinning. “Will it cover both of us?”

“Of course! Fits me, Ron and Hermione alright,” Harry said, standing up and shaking it out. “We sneak around all the time.”

“Do I want to know why?”

“Probably not,” Harry said, he threw it over his head and lifted it to see Evan waiting. “You coming?”

A moment later, Evan had ducked under the Cloak with him and Harry was suddenly overwhelmed by how close he now was. Both being tall, they had to duck slightly to conceal their feet, and as they did so, Evan’s body was pressing up ever more closely against Harry’s. It was an intoxicating sensation.

“Come on,” he murmured, before he lost his senses entirely. “Let’s go see what the Swedish side of the Lodge is like.”

With no argument from Evan, the two crept along the corridor and down the stairs, taking their time until Evan got used to the mechanics of walking in tandem with Harry under the Cloak. On reaching the lobby, they hesitated, seeing the constant stream of people crossing it. They waited for a time for the coast to clear (Harry growing ever more worked up at Evan’s warm body next to his) and then swiftly crossed to the opposite staircase adorned with the blue and yellow banners.

They sneaked up the stairs and along the corridor, seeing it to be a mirror image of their own wing. Most of the doors were closed, but the entrance to the Swedish rec room was wide open and they ducked inside to have a look around.

Four of the Swedish players were seated in here, playing some games of Gobstones and chess. Harry got his first proper up-close look at them. He recognised Erik Svensson, a Beater, and Lars Andersson the Keeper, as the two who had been with Karlsson the day she had confronted Fowler. They seemed very relaxed and at ease, laughing as the game went on. A witch was seated beside them, who Harry recognised from the programme as Freja Hansen, the other of the team’s Beaters, made distinctive by the heavily tattooed arms emerging from her artfully ripped robes. The person she played against was Harry’s rival: Jonas Larsson.

Harry examined the man closely. He appeared to be a similar height to Harry, but slightly heavier, which he thought was entirely to Harry’s advantage. His eyes were quick and attentive as they darted across the chessboard. He looked like someone who would not easily be fooled, and Harry had a sudden push of doubt at the thought of pulling off the Wronksi Feint against him.

They retreated after a few moments, hearing that all conversation was in Swedish and unlikely to be of use to them, and examined the rest of the room. With the exception of a dartboard featuring what appeared to be Fowler’s face on it (most likely to have been erected by Karlsson), it was exactly the same as their own.

Without speaking, Harry and Evan left the Swedish wing and went back into the lobby before heading out the front entrance to go back down the path to the golden gate. On approaching the gate, Harry recognised Kane sitting beside it in a folding chair, half asleep. Harry was only starting to wonder how they were going to get him to open the gate for them before Evan had guided them towards it and, like with the silver gate in the gardens, walked straight through it.

After they’d gotten a little bit further away and were walking across the moor towards the distant campsite, Harry spoke.

“I thought the gate had to be opened? That’s what happened when Fowler and I arrived. It took forever.”

Evan chuckled. “That’s what we all let Fowler think. Kane loves to wind him up.”

The campsite was growing closer and closer, and Harry felt a surge of both trepidation and excitement as he saw how populated it was now. Unlike before, the majority of all the tents had now been erected and there was a steady stream of people filtering between them at a consistent frequency.

He exchanged a grin with Evan and they pressed forwards eagerly.

It was much like the campsite Harry had seen at the World Cup, with a large variety of tents, some normal looking and others utterly bizarre. He and Evan sneaked around, bending over with laughter at some of the creativeness of the tents, which included one with a giant slide attached, another with a large ornamental dragon sitting outside breathing real fire for cooking with, one that seemed to be revolving and another with an attached swimming pool. The residents were hardly less bizarre in their various states of Muggle dress, and it wasn’t long before Harry spied Archie, the wizard he’d seen two years ago in the queue for the water tap, still sauntering around in his pink flowered nightdress.

He and Evan suppressed their laughter with mixed success, causing several witches and wizards to look around in confusion at the unexpected noise. Harry was having the time of his life. More than once, he and Evan had to press themselves closer together to avoid someone walking towards them, and each time, Harry’s heart leapt.

Soon, they came to a section of the campsite which was completely bedecked in white and red, and Harry saw with glee that the tents were covered in moving photographs of the England team, including several of him, in a thrilling echo of the Bulgarian tents covered with Krum’s likeness. Harry couldn’t quite believe it as he walked past dozens of tents with his own face staring back at him. Though the others featured as well, his poster was by far the most prominent.

“Wow,” Evan whispered, pointing to a tent covered with an enormous picture of him, as well as other posters of the Appleby Arrows team. “I have _fans_.”

“Well, obviously,” Harry said, grinning, “you’re amazing.”

Evan’s smile of gratitude sent waves of warmth rippling across him. They were both in fact getting very warm under the Cloak; with their exhaled breath making it increasingly stuffy. Harry’s head was growing lighter.

They stopped beside a group of people gathered around a simple fire. Harry soon recognised Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan and was elated to see them both wearing England rosettes. But unlike the ones at the World Cup which had squeaked the names of the Irish players, these ones had a single name printed in the centre, ‘Potter’, which periodically dissolved and morphed into an image of Harry’s face.

They seemed to be in the middle of an argument with the two older wizards across the fire.

“—can’t seriously expect him to win,” one wizard was saying derisively. “He’s never played competitively before!”

“So?” Dean asked. “Everyone has to start somewhere.”

The second wizard scoffed. “The final of the European Championships isn’t the best place to start. If he messes this up for us—”

“He’s not going to mess it up,” Seamus said, frowning. “He’s better than you think.”

“Oh yeah?” the first wizard looked at him patronisingly. “I suppose you’re one of those idiots that actually believe he caught a Snitch in his _mouth.”_

“Yeah, coz we were there when it happened!” Dean said, Seamus nodding fiercely. “We’re at school with him. We’ve seen him play in every match.”

“If he did, it must have been by chance,” the second wizard dismissed. “Wasn’t his broomstick jinxed? Pure luck!”

“It wasn’t luck which helped him stay on that broom when it was bucking around!” Seamus objected. “Pure _skill._

Any other player would have fallen. He was holding on by _one hand._ ”

“I’m not saying he’s not a good flier,” the first wizard said diplomatically, “but it’s an entirely different thing to be playing in a game like this. Larsson’s got piles of Snitch captures behind him, and he’s played more games this year than Potter has in his entire life. If you ask me, he got in on his name alone. I know he’s your friend, but you have to admit he’s got no chance.”

“No, we don’t have to admit anything,” Dean said stubbornly. “You haven’t seen him. You don’t know Harry like we do. He’s got guts like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Guts don’t win matches.”

“They do when you’re Harry Potter,” Seamus said. “He never does things by half. I was there the very first time he rode a broom. Couldn’t believe how good he was. He’s a natural, and if he was that good without training, I can’t wait to see how good he is now after Fowler’s been at him. Just you wait.”

With that, the two Gryffindors stood up and left, leaving the two wizards to continue muttering between themselves.

Harry, though buoyed by his friends’ support, couldn’t help but feel a little disheartened by the wizards’ pessimism. But before he could sink beneath this, he felt Evan coming closer to him.

Harry held his breath as Evan, who was standing slightly behind him, pressed forwards to place his head over Harry’s shoulder so that their cheeks were touching,. A thrilling jolt of something exhilarating had shot up his spine, and Harry’s heart was hammering as Evan’s breath began to tickle his cheek, sending goosepimples up his arms and a tingling sensation across his neck. The feel of him standing there felt ridiculously right.

“Don’t worry,” Evan whispered, mouth close to Harry’s ear. “ _You’re_ amazing. You’re going to prove them wrong. I just know it.”

Harry couldn’t have responded even if he’d wanted to. Evan’s lips had brushed up against his skin as he had spoken and Harry didn’t think his brain was functioning properly. He closed his eyes in the sheer delight of the electrifying atmosphere this boy seemed to generate with his presence alone.

After a moment in which Harry fought valiantly to get his mind to focus once again, he turned his head slightly to see Evan, whose face was very close to his own. Harry could do nothing but look, for looking was so _glorious_. Evan was looking back just as intently.

 _I want you_ , Harry thought to himself, almost overpowered by the expression he saw in Evan’s eyes. _I need you._

Their moment was broken by the sound of the wizards beginning to argue with yet more passers-by wearing Potter rosettes. Harry moved his head away from Evan’s and sucked in a breath.

“We should get back.”

Evan did not argue, and they turned to head back to the Players’ Lodge without another word.

As Harry lay in bed that night, he could not help but steal a few glances over at Evan’s bed, pondering what had just occurred between them. He’d never had thoughts like that before; never felt like that. Not even with Cho.

_What the hell was going on?_


	16. Divination

Harry tried his best to avoid Evan as much as possible over the next couple of days, but was frequently foiled by various new responsibilities and tasks the team had to carry out in the run up to match day.

Now that the match was so close, Fowler had them all on a much stricter leash, giving them set bedtimes and alarm calls, instructing none of them to wander alone or touch anything food-related which had not been tested by at least two house-elves. He also relaxed some of their training to allow them to rest more, and brought in green robed Healers from St. Mungo’s who examined them all daily and arranged for the team to have massages and other procedures designed to prepare their bodies for the game. Their broomsticks were subject to daily maintenance, the England wing of the Lodge was now guarded by a miniature troll, and they were all banned from sending and receiving mail in case of some sort of cursed letter which somehow managed to make it past the Aurors.

It was almost too much, and Harry found his nerves building day by day. The pressure was beginning to overwhelm him. Even the meditation exercises Evan had taught him did not help because they reminded him of Evan and the _other_ pile of conflicting emotions which were battling inside him.

He couldn’t deny that he had some very strong feelings towards Evan, but he could not work them out. Just why did this boy affect him in that way? Why was he all Harry could think about? This was not a time he wanted to be distracted. And Evan was able to distract him completely just by looking at him.

The day before the match arrived, and Harry was just about crawling out of his skin. After breakfast with the team (all of whose high spirits were now starting to flag a little), he seized his Cloak and headed off for the campsite again. He knew that the Weasleys would have arrived by now, and had a burning desire to see them, even if he could not talk to them.

His journey there was quick, but his progress through the tents was slowed by the sheer mass of people who now populated the sprawling site. He dodged dozens of excited England fans wearing rosettes bearing the names of their favourite players, ducked around Swedish fans who were singing at the top of their lungs and side-stepped screaming children zooming around on toy broomsticks.

He began to give up hope of finding the Weasley tents in all this chaos and instead decided to try and seek out one of the taps in the hope he could stake it out and catch one of the family coming for some water. As he sought one of these, he almost bumped into a walking saleswizard and stopped to peer into his tray of offerings.

It was the same usual stuff on sale as at the last match; omnioculars, posters, programmes, model players (Harry was startled to see his own miniature self waving up at the customers) and rosettes, some in red and white, others in blue and yellow. There was a giant yellow wizard’s hat which had the word ‘SVERIGE’ flashing on it in blue writing, and also a hat shaped like a scarlet dragon which roared periodically, a tiny knight in shining armour darting around it frantically with a sword the size of a toothpick. Harry barely had time to wonder that the wizarding world had the same stories about St. George and the dragon as the Muggle world (and to wonder if the tale was in fact, actually true) when he heard a familiar voice.

“Ron, you already _know_ Harry; you’re his best friend for goodness sake! Why do you want a miniature model of him?”

“Coz it’s cool, Hermione! And besides, this is going to really embarrass him—”

Walking away from the saleswizard, Harry was thrilled to see Ron and Hermione, both clutching their purchases. Hermione had a colourful programme and a large box of various sweets, while Ron had the miniature model of Harry, one of Emmy and Elias, a dragon hat and a huge chocolate Quaffle. Both were wearing Potter rosettes.

Harry fell into line behind them and followed them for a while, listening in.

“Still think Harry could have got us better accommodations,” Ron grumbled. “Our tent is so far away from the stadium.”

“What did you expect? Him putting us up in the Players’ Lodge?”

“Well, why not?”

“It must be incredibly busy and have really strict security,” Hermione said sensibly. “And besides, it doesn’t sound like there’s much room. He has to share a bedroom.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll just bunk with him and that Turner bloke can go off somewhere else.”

“You just want in so you can meet Parker and Sanderson.”

“Do not!”

Harry chuckled softly. He’d missed them both. He had so much to tell them.

“It’s so crowded in our tent,” Ron complained. “With mum and Lupin here too it’s too much. And now Kingsley’s shown up!”

“Kingsley’s just dropping in,” Hermione said as they turned a corner onto a slightly less busy path through tents draped in England flags and posters of Harry. “He’ll be gone soon. Funny he hasn’t seen much of Harry when he’s doing security around the Lodge. I would’ve thought Harry would be out a lot more. He’s only ever seen him walking back and forth from the stadium.”

“Maybe he’s using his Invisibility Cloak?” Ron suggested.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Harry said, making both of them leap out of their skin and drop what they’d been carrying.

_“Harry?”_ Hermione squeaked. She looked around blankly as they scrambled to pick up their souvenirs. “You’re here?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, laughing quietly.

“Under the Cloak?”

“Obviously.”

He reached out and gently tapped them both on the shoulders to let them know where he was. They jumped again.

“Well, take it off then!” Ron said, starting to grin. “Come on! I don’t know whether I want to hug you or punch you. I need to see your face to decide.”

“As much as I’d like to find out, what d’you think’ll happen if I take it off around this lot?” Harry said, as a huge crowd of England fans surged past.

“Fair point.” Ron said, looking at a nearby tent, every inch covered in images of Harry’s face. “Come back to the tent then.”

“Not if Kingsley’s there,” Harry said. He felt a touch of guilt. “I shouldn’t be sneaking out at all. There’s Aurors crawling all over the place.”

“Oh, Harry, we don’t want you in trouble for us—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said, touching Hermione on the shoulder again. “Me and Evan sneak out all the time. They haven’t caught us yet.”

“Turner?” Ron asked. He made a face. “That bloke who put the Cannons bottom of the league?”

“Ron, you and I both know Evan wasn’t the one who put the Cannons bottom of the league.”

“Still,” Ron said unenthusiastically. “He’s a bit of an odd one, right?”

“We’re friends,” Harry said, immediately leaping to his defence, but then backing down in case he seemed too eager. “But yeah, a bit … different.”

Saying those words didn’t feel right, and Harry was desperate to change the subject. Fortunately, Ron offered the perfect opportunity.

“What’s going on, mate? You didn’t answer my last letter!”

“I didn’t get it,” said Harry. “Fowler’s so paranoid one of us is going to get blown up by an envelope or something he’s keeping us completely cut off. He’s not even letting us go to the bathroom on our own in case there’s a Swedish player lurking in the U-bend. He’s completely bonkers. I swear, he’s even more psychotic about security than Mad-Eye Moody.”

“Really? Is it true then that you’ve got a troll guarding the England quarters?”

“Yeah. Little git stinks the whole floor out. Fowler’s insane.”

Ron’s eyes had lit up, eager to hear more about this Quidditch living legend, but Hermione spoke instead.

“But how are you, Harry? You must be feeling really nervous!”

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me,” Harry said, feeling the now familiar flutter in his stomach. “I came out here to get away from everyone else’s nerves. Becca’s cleaning everything in sight.”

“I wish you were visible so I could hug you!” Hermione said, looking at a point somewhere over his shoulder. “You’re going to be amazing, Harry.”

“I hope so.”

“You will,” Ron said, reaching out his hand and waving it wildly through the air, as though he was trying to put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, before dropping it in defeat. “We heard that bloody press conference, Harry. Those journalists don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. Idiots.”

“It was really unfair of them to ask about the Ministry,” Hermione said, nodding fervently. “How dare they question you about Sirius?”

Almost as soon as she’d spoken, she clapped her hand over her mouth. Ron looked at her meaningfully, widening his eyes slightly.

Harry didn’t want to go down this route with them. He didn’t need to hear their sympathies or see the worry on their faces as they approached the subject of the prophecy. Unlike with Evan, they couldn’t understand how he felt about it.

“Well, I’d better get back,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “Fowler will kill me if I miss the last practice. Actually no, he wouldn’t do that. But I wouldn’t put it past him to Transfigure my ears into kumquats or something.”

“Oh, well, okay. Good luck!”

“Yeah, mate, you’ll smash it— honest!” Ron said, looking around at thin air. “We’ll be the ones cheering the loudest when you win!”

Harry smiled, though invisible, and soon left them, feeling oddly that his heart was now heavier than it had been before he’d come here.

* * *

Back in his room, Harry sat on his bed with his knees drawn up tightly against his chest. Ever since leaving Ron and Hermione his fears had continued to grow and grow until he could almost feel them sitting in his chest like a heavy anchor weighing him down.

Tomorrow, he was actually going to be playing for England in the European Championship final.

_Him!_

His throat was so tight he almost could not breathe. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. His heart was hammering painfully against his ribs. The world was spinning around him.

_I’m going to make a fool of myself._

_What was I thinking?_

_Everyone’s going to hate me again._

_I can’t do this!_

He was so deeply entrenched in this downward spiral he almost did not notice the door open or the blond figure who entered. The next moment, the mattress beside him had shifted as the figure had come to sit by his side.

“It’s okay, Harry, just breathe.”

Harry tried, but that sounded impossible. He was shaking.

“Breathe, Harry. With me. Breathe in, and out. In and out.”

Harry listened, and did as he was asked, following the rhythm of the voice as the pain in his chest began to disappear and the world turned to normal. Finally, when he was fully in control once again, he turned his head.

“Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “I—I just had a moment.”

“It’s okay,” Evan said from beside him. “I had one yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Harry asked, frowning.

Evan shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “I deal with things on my own. I always have. And – I didn’t want to bother you.”

Harry understood. He hadn’t wanted to bother him because Harry had been trying to avoid him, too confused by their recent venture to the campsite. Harry could kick himself for making Evan feel like he hadn’t been interested, or that he didn’t care.

“Hey,” Harry said, making him look at him. “I don’t mind being bothered by stuff like this.”

Evan’s lips twitched, and Harry wondered if he believed him. Why would he? Harry was in the middle of something even he didn’t understand.

Harry sighed and looked away. In Evan’s presence, he was beginning to feel calmer.

“I just had a minor crisis of confidence,” he said, trying to fill the silence. “I saw my friends down at the campsite. They’re so sure I’m going to catch the Snitch. And it’s just really putting on the pressure.” He rested his head against the wall behind him. “I wish I could just see the future and know it’ll be all okay. That even if I mess up things will still work out.”

_Or at least, hear a prophecy which doesn’t make it explicit I have to become either a murderer or a murder victim._

To his surprise, Evan inched a little closer. Hesitating slightly, he reached out and lifted Harry’s hand into his own. Too startled to say anything, Harry watched as Evan turned his hand over and exposed the flat of his palm. The two charms from their security bracelets clashed together.

“When I was living in India,” Evan said, keeping his eyes lowered, “I learned a bit of palmistry from one of the wizards there. He taught me how to tell the future.”

“I don’t really put much faith in Divination,” Harry said, hypnotically watching as Evan started to trace the lines on his palm, setting off a tingling sensation wherever his skin made contact with his own.

“Didn’t you tell me you’d failed that OWL?” Evan’s tone was teasing, and he continued his examination. “This isn’t normal Divination anyway.”

“Professor Trelawney always told me I was going to die tragically,” Harry said, joining in the light tone, smiling as Evan continued running his fingers over Harry’s hand. “Was she right? A Quidditch final certainly would be a tragic way to go.”

Evan laughed lightly. His other hand had now joined the other as he run his index finger down Harry’s life line. “Sorry, but your Professor Trelawney was wrong. Says here you’re going to have a long, long life.”

“Always said she was an old fraud,” Harry said, not even getting upset at the mention of Trelawney and thinking of her one _true_ prophecy, so caught up was he in the feeling of Evan’s hands over his own. “What else?”

Evan’s fingers moved to his heart line. “A life filled with lots of love,” he said, blushing slightly. “Though it started fairly late on in life.”

“What a surprise.”

Evan’s own smile grew greater as his fingertips continued to dance across Harry’s palm. “Lots of success too. Lots. It says … it says you’re going to catch the Snitch tomorrow night, and we’re going to win.”

As he said this last part, Evan raised his eyes to Harry’s, shining with emotion, and Harry was suddenly unable to breathe again, but for an entirely different reason than before.

“It doesn’t say that,” Harry said, shaking his head slightly.

Evan’s lips quirked. “I haven’t been wrong yet.”

And somehow, miraculously, Harry believed him. Evan’s hands were still on his, and Harry closed his palm to enclose Evan’s within his own. His heart was hammering again, and Harry felt an impulse to lean in, close the gap between them, indulge in this wondrous feeling.

“Turner! Potter!”

The two boys leapt apart as the door to their room burst open and Fowler barged in. If he noticed their flushed faces and guilty expressions, he said nothing.

“Why aren’t you ready? Training starts in five minutes!”

He stormed out again, leaving a very pink-faced Evan and extremely unsettled Harry behind him.


	17. Birthday Morning Suprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone following and commenting on this story!

“What d’you mean we have to _perform?”_ Emmy asked in outrage.

Fowler looked just as unhappy as she was. He’d waited until the last half hour of their final training session to spring this on them.

“Before the match. They want both teams to do some sort of display.”

“But that’s the mascot’s jobs!”

“They’re not coming.”

“What?” Aardash cried. “We’re not getting mascots? But those Cornish Pixies took forever to train!”

“Can you blame them after what happened at the Quidditch World Cup?” Elias said, shaking his head. “Use your brain. Veela throwing balls of fire, leprechauns attacking and making rude gestures, the referee’s broomstick aflame …”

“That’s all part of the fun!”

“Yeah, and how come the Irish say we can’t do it when they’re the ones that caused the problem in the first place!”

“Enough,” Fowler said, glowering at Aardash and Nate. “All that needs to be said is that you lot have to put on some sort of show. Just a couple of minutes. As if we haven’t got enough to do.”

Harry began to feel his dread of earlier return. Perform? As well as try and think about the match?

“Any ideas?” Fowler looked around, his squashed face looking particularly unpleasant as he scowled. “We have to be creative.”

As amusing as the idea of Fowler of all people trying to be creative was, none of them laughed.

“We could do some aerial manoeuvres,” Becca suggested. “Flying formations, some dives, couple of tricks.”

“That’s what the Swedes are doing.” Fowler said.

“How do you know?”

“Cause I sneaked in to watch, didn’t I?” Fowler said, glaring at Nate. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

They all fell silent as they thought, sitting spread out on the pitch. Harry tried to think, but the sight of the empty stands around him was making him nervous as he imagined them being filled with the people from the campsite in less than twenty-four hours.

Some wizards were moving around the stands, putting up some final decorative banners and flags to mark the two opposing ends. Harry had an idea.

“What about making the colours of the flag?” he said, making everyone turn to look at him. “There’s Muggle planes which do aerial displays, and they trail the colours of the flag out behind them in coloured smoke. We could do something similar with our brooms.”

Becca’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes. I’ve heard of them. The Bows and Arrows or something.”

“The Red Arrows,” grunted Fowler. “What? I read,” he said, when everyone looked at him in surprise. “Not a bad idea, Potter. We could attach something to your brooms which would release the smoke. Be easier if you were allowed wands on the pitch, but there you go.”

“Ooh yes,” Becca said. She was in her element, the only artistic one of the group. “All of us flying in formation with some white and some red. It’ll look amazing.”

“What if we take it a step further?” Aardash whipped the dragon hat from his hat which he’d convinced an Auror to go out and buy for him in the campsite. “We could make a _dragon_ out of smoke!”

“Perfect!” Becca said, clapping her hands. “I could draw it out in white and then you guys could come swooping out its mouth with red fire! It’ll take a bit of fiddling around with changing smoke colours after the flag, but it’ll look _so cool_.”

“I think she’s more excited about this than the match,” Evan whispered to Harry, making him laugh.

After a while, Becca had conjured some little cannisters filled with white and red smoke which she attached to the tails of their brooms and they began to practice, beginning with the England flag.

It wasn’t too bad, Harry thought. They zoomed around the stadium in a v-formation and when they passed the commentator’s box they flicked a switch with their foot (either left for white or right for red) to release their colour, making a full circuit. It looked impressive enough.

When it came to the dragon part however, Becca was having some difficulty. Her first few attempts at drawing a dragon in the air were shockingly bad; even the portrait Dobby had painted for Harry last year had looked more like what it was supposed to resemble.

Eventually however, she began to improve and a recognisably dragonesque figure began to appear, looking far more impressive when the other players dived in when she’d finished, flying as one and then diverging dramatically from the mouth and kicking the switch on the right cannister to release the red flame. Pulling on a buckle then dropped both cannisters from the broom, which would leave their brooms unburdened for the game itself. Even Fowler looked pleased with the result.

Aardash squinted back up at the completed dragon as it began to dissipate.

“Looks more like a chicken to me.”

“What kind of chicken do you know that breathes fire?” Emmy snapped.

_One Hagrid knows_ , Harry thought to himself with a smile.

The effort of working on their display had helped Harry to forget his nerves for a while, but as they ended up back at their strategy meeting, Harry became acutely aware of the fact that that had been their last proper training session. All they would get tomorrow were some brief warm-ups in the morning before the stadium started to be filled in the afternoon.

Fowler had realised this too.

“We’ve done all we can,” he told them. “And it’s more than enough. We’re by far the better team, no matter what the doubters are saying about Turner and Potter. But we can’t get complacent either. Most of that squad come from the Visby Vikings so they’ve been playing together for a lot longer than we have. They know how to move together, and those Chasers are damn near unbeatable, so Turner’ll have his work cut out for him. Like it or not, this match is all going to come down to whoever gets the Snitch, so you’ll all have to hold the fort with goals and well-timed Bludgers until Potter finds it.”

This sent off yet another rush of panic in Harry. It was more or less what he’d been discussing with Viktor in their lessons, but it still made him worry everyone was relying on him too much.

It also didn’t help that beside him, Evan had also turned pale.

When they went back to their room, Harry found he could not sleep at all, despite Fowler prowling up and down outside everyone’s rooms and barking at them all to get some rest. Across the room, Evan was also lying staring at the ceiling, expression rigid.

Harry wanted to comfort him somehow, but how could he offer any when he himself was in need of it? He could not help but think back to earlier that day, when they’d more or less sat holding hands, and Harry had felt that inexplicable urge to move closer to him, to lean in and –

Harry shook himself. What on earth was he thinking? He hadn’t wanted to … that is, Harry didn’t get those sorts of feelings … at least not—not for someone like … not for a _boy._

_This is not the time to get yourself distracted,_ Harry told himself. _Forget Evan. Forget these feelings, whatever they are. You need to focus on the Snitch. Nothing else._

But when he finally fell asleep that night, his dreams took an unusual turn. He was in the stadium, the crowd roaring at him as he ducked and dived across the sky. He saw the Snitch and he shot after it like a speeding bullet. He went faster and faster until finally, his fingers clasped around it. He raised it triumphantly in the air, but when Harry took a closer look, it did not look like a Snitch at all. Instead, the little golden ball had morphed into an image of Evan’s face.

The dream changed, and Harry was back in the clearing, sitting with Evan in the sunlight of the morning as they looked each other. Evan’s mouth was moving.

_‘You like your Quidditch players then?”_

And then, instead of Harry squirming in discomfort like the last time he’d asked that question, he had replied:

_“No, I just like you.”_

Evan’s face broke out into a wide grin, and he drew his face closer, and Harry found himself leaning in—

Harry was wrenched from his dream by the loud banging of a door and before he had managed to fully open his eyes two large objects had collided with him, making Harry’s mattress bounce spectacularly into the air.

“Happy birthday, Harry!”

Harry blinked the sleep out of his eyes, recognising the faces of Aardash and Nate pressed up against his own, grinning insanely.

“W-what?”

“Come on, mate, have you forgotten?” Nate said, starting to try and tickle him. “It’s the final, but it’s also your birthday!”

Harry _had_ forgotten, but he couldn’t say this through his writhing attempts to avoid Nate’s fingers.

“Yeah, and that means we have to follow through on England team tradition,” Aardash cackled. “Birthday morning pool dunk!”

“ _What?_ ”

But Nate and Aardash, both huge guys, had already grabbed hold of Harry’s wrists and ankles and hauled him out of bed, despite him struggling fiercely. It was then he saw Evan and the rest of the team in their pyjamas, watching the action with broad grins on their faces.

Harry kicked and wriggled as much as he could as the two players lifted him down the corridor in the direction of the England team’s private pool, Becca running ahead to open the door for them. He saw with dismay that she was also armed with her camera.

“There’s _no way_ this is a tradition,” Harry yelled futilely as Nate and Aardash carried him closer to the water.

“No, but it’s funny,” Elias snorted from the sidelines.

“I can’t swim!”

“Then take a deep breath.”

The next thing Harry knew he had been plunged into the chilly waters of the pool, sinking down several feet until he brushed the bottom. Turning himself the right way around, he kicked off from the bottom of the pool and rose to the surface, spouting out water and spluttering indignantly.

“You trying to kill me?”

“Oh, relax, Potter.” To Harry’s fury, he also saw Fowler standing with the team, an amused smirk on his face. “All sixteen year old boys could do with a few more baths now and again.”

The team were buckled with laughter again, and Harry clambered out of the pool, shivering in his sodden pyjamas. Evan grabbed a towel from the side and handed to him, tears of laughter on his own cheeks.

“Right, get back and dried off and meet us in the rec room,” Emmy said, pushing him towards the door. “Hurry up or you won’t get your presents.”

“Presents?”

“Of course, it’s a birthday isn’t it?”

Harry went back to his room with Evan and quickly got dried and changed, heading into the rec room ten minutes later. The team had been busy overnight. The entire room had been decorated in banners and balloons, some in the England colours and some in Gryffindor’s. An enormous cake in the shape of a Golden Snitch lay on the centre of a table and there was a small stack of presents around it wrapped in colourful paper.

“The cake’s my gift,” Elias said, smiling. “Hope you like it. Took me hours yesterday to ice it.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, eying the huge cake. He looked around the room suddenly aware he could hear the noise of soft music coming from a radio. “What is all this?”

“Your birthday party of course!” Emmy said, staring at him. “All my idea. And Evan’s a little.”

Harry was speechless for a moment. “I’ve never had a birthday party before.”

“Well, you’re getting one now,” Evan said, taking hold of Harry’s elbow and getting him to sit down at the table. “Hurry up and open your presents before Dash eats the entire cake.”

“I would _never_.”

Harry grabbed the nearest present, from Becca, and unwrapped it. Inside was a beautiful leather bound book embossed with images of broomsticks and Snitches. He flipped it open and found it was filled with several glossy photographs of himself and the England team. The first half of the album was full of the official team photographs, including the one of him and Evan together, but the rest of it was filled with the photos Becca had been surreptitiously been taking of all of them over the past week, all of their wild unguarded moments of silliness, pranks and general camaraderie. He laughed as he looked at the images of himself with the giant tongue after he’d been tricked into eating the Ton-Tongue Toffee, pictures of Aardash and Nate making faces at the camera walking on either side of Harry as they headed down to the stadium, the time Harry, Evan and Nate had divebombed Aardash on the pitch and caused him to roll over dramatically on his broom, sending his robes flying over his head. At the end of the book, there were a couple of empty pages.

“For pictures from the match,” Becca explained, “and the photos from this morning, of course! And this one,” she said, turning to the final page, which was golden in colour, “is for the picture of you holding the Cup.”

Deeply moved, Harry stood up and hugged her. “Thanks,” he said. Never, not since Hagrid had given him the photo album of his parents, had he been so affected by a present.

“Come on, open the rest!” Nate complained. “I want some cake!”

Harry laughed and turned to the rest, which were far more of the usual variety, though still wonderful. Emmy had given him a set of Honeyduke’s best chocolates from their limited edition ‘European Championship’ range and featured the names of the players and the image of the England flag piped on them in icing; Nate had gotten him a set of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes’ products (“Say the word Harry and we’ll endorse anything in your friends’ shop if we can get more of this for free!”); Aardash had gotten him a new pair of Quidditch gloves (“But don’t even think of wearing them tonight if they’re not worn in!”) and Evan had gotten him a book entitled _History of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team: Half a Millennium of the Lions_.

“You’re in it,” Evan said, opening the book to the latter pages. “It goes right up until you won the Cup in your third year. Thought it might be a good omen.”

Harry grinned, seeing a picture of his team from that year on one page and then a picture of himself lifting the House Cup into the air. He felt the urge to rise up and hug Evan as he had done with Becca.

The following party was a bit of a strange one, being so early in the morning, there only being seven of them and half still in their pyjamas, but it was one of the best of Harry’s life. It was incredible to think that he’d only known these people for a few weeks, but he now felt like they were among his closest friends. He understood what Viktor had meant about being a ‘proper team’. He was beginning to feel sad that it was almost all over. The Cup would end, positively or negatively for them, and everyone would drift back to their respective teams, possibly never to fly together again.

Unfortunately, the party, like the competition itself, could not last forever. Fowler soon showed up (not bringing a present for Harry), and snapped at them all to get dressed in training robes and head down to the pitch for final warm-ups.

This statement brought an immediate dark cloud over the proceedings, and they trudged down to the pitch with a mixture of dread and grim determination. The pitch was already busy with officials and other various witches and wizards making last minute preparations, cutting the grass meticulously with their wands and polishing the goalposts. There were several officials and foreign representatives from the EAQ, including Viktor Krum and a few other individuals Harry vaguely recognised from other international teams, all sitting on the stands watching the training.

The black robed Swedes were also here; with the pitch off-limits after one o’clock, both teams would have to warm up together. Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy as he saw the other players from the opposite end of the pitch. Their flying was faultless, and he grew worried at the incredible speed of the Swedish Chasers.

Not wanting to give away tactics, Fowler instructed them all to tone down their practice, giving them only the most basic of moves while the Swedes darted everywhere at lightning speed.

“Don’t know who Karlsson thinks she’s trying to impress,” snorted Fowler as he watched the elaborate routines of the Swedish. “Why wear out your team this early on?”

Harry practiced his dives, getting nervous as he thought about the Wronski Feint he was planning on using that evening if he got the chance. He was careful not to give this away, keeping his dives shallow and altogether uninspiring, though he wished he had the opportunity to execute one more perfect example of it before trying it out for real.

“Larsson’s staring at you,” Evan said as he flew past. He came to hover in the air beside him. “He’s barely taken his eyes off you since you arrived.”

Not turning around to search for the other Seeker, Harry tried to act as though he and Evan were just discussing the weather. “Is he? How does he seem?”

“Confused,” Evan said. “Like he’s trying to figure you out but can’t.”

_Good,_ Harry thought, _let him wonder._

Conscious of the Swedish player watching him, yet not allowing himself to look in his direction and make him aware that he knew of his scrutiny, Harry resumed his warm-ups, deliberately playing down his skills even more than Fowler had instructed them to, mincing his next dives, wobbling on purpose and altogether trying to give off the impression that he was vastly inexperienced. In short, he replicated how Ron always appeared in the first half of a game when his nerves overcame him.

It seemed to work, for when they finished their warm-ups and headed back inside, Aardash threw an arm around him and winked.

“Sneaky, Potter! Larsson’ll get a fright tonight when he sees you in action for real! I saw him walking off and laughing with Eklund!”

They began to make their way back to the Lodge, meeting the foreign Quidditch players from the EAQ committee outside the stadium as they headed back up, the team greeting some with familiar hugs. Viktor fell into step with Harry.

“The team looks good,” Viktor said as they walked back up, after casting around an eye looking for Swedes. “You vill be great. I saw how you made yourself look bad. You vill fool Larsson easily.”

“I hope so,” Harry said, sighing. “I just wish I could try it out one more time.”

“You are ready,” Viktor said with a shrug. “Over practicing is bad too. You can do it, so believe you can, and you vill.”

“Thanks for everything, Viktor,” Harry said as they passed back into the gardens. “You didn’t have to do all this for me.”

“It vos nothing,” Viktor said. He chewed his lip for a moment before talking again. “The Trivizard Tournament vos supposed to bring us all together, but vun of us ended up dead. Those of us who survived owe it to each other to keep that bond strong. Like your Dumbledore said at memorial for Cedric. We come from different places, haff different languages, but ve are united.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, stunned at Viktor’s sudden xenophilic sentiments.

“Unless of course you are Svedish,” Viktor said with a new scowl. “Today they do not count. Crush them.”

Harry laughed, feeling a lot lighter than he had earlier.

“I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're now at the match itself! Next chapter is a lot longer at almost 9k and I debated whether or not to post it in one or split the match into three parts. Will probably post it all in one unless the majority of you have any objections :)


	18. The Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the match as promised! 🤍❤️🤍 vs 💙💛💙 
> 
> Get your bets in now 😉

Their time at the Lodge was fairly brief. Elias cooked them all a last lunch, which they ate in silence, like condemned prisoners awaiting execution. Emmy looked paler than usual, and even Aardash and Nate were more subdued. Harry could barely eat for the wriggling sensation in his stomach, but he forced himself to anyway. He had no idea how long the match would go on for; the England semi-final against France had lasted almost twelve hours.

Harry was surprised to see his teammates engaging in a few strange pre-match rituals. Evan, as he had expected, headed off to the garden to meditate, but the others seemed to do things at complete random. Emmy paced around the rec room chanting Celestina Warbeck lyrics under her breath, Becca created multi-coloured bubbles with her wand which she levitated and sent bobbing air up and down through the air like some sort of bizarre lava lamp, Nate ate an exact total of thirteen Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, but only the orange ones, before meticulously sorting the others by colour and eating them too, Aardash brought out photographs of his family and began talking to them as though they were there and Elias began baking trays upon trays of fluffy cupcakes, always in multiples of four.

Having never really had a pre-match ritual, Harry headed outside and joined Evan in the gardens. Evan raised an eyebrow as he joined him but said nothing, allowing Harry to try and enter in the same relaxed state his friend was in, attempting to ignore his strange dream of the night before.

All too soon, Fowler told them it was time and they all began to head down to the pitch for the last time, collecting their broomsticks from the broom technicians after their final check-up. Harry’s Firebolt had never looked shinier, nor as sleek as it did now, not even when brand new. They walked down to the pitch in a nervous silence. As they grew closer to the stadium, the noise level around them grew, and Harry was aware of a gentle rumbling sound, like the beginnings of a thunderstorm. The crowd were arriving.

In the changing rooms, Harry’s hands were trembling as he pulled on his England robes and Elias had to help him tighten the ties around his bracers. In the corner, Harry saw Nate tying and untying his shoelaces again and again in a frenetic fashion. It made him feel slightly better that everyone else was just as nervous as he was.

His entire body was tingling as they sat down on the chairs in the Players’ Lounge, the Swedish players in their fantastically bright blue and yellow robes some distance away, sitting on stools huddled around one little coffee table, deep in last minute discussions. There were a few house-elves milling around offering drinks and other refreshments, but none of them took anything. There was a small window which, instead of facing the pitch, looked out over the woods, and the sky outside was steadily growing darker.

The rumbling sound grew louder.

Nate had his eyes closed and was swaying back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fists. Becca was polishing her glasses again and again. Evan looked like he was going to be sick.

The Swedish team were still talking, going over their strategies, but when Harry looked at them, he saw similar looks of worry on their own faces, as though they were only talking to stop themselves falling to pieces. One of the Swedish players had a tangle of necklaces around her neck, each one bearing a different coloured stone or charm, and she was methodically moving through them, kissing each one before seizing the next.

“Not really fair they get to talk strategy and we don’t.” Harry looked to Aardash, who then explained. “They can sit and discuss what they like and we can’t understand them because we don’t know Swedish, but they could understand our talks because they speak English.”

“Then maybe you English should make more effort to learn other languages!” one of the Swedish players, Ström, shouted across the room. “Perhaps then you could get an advantage to help you win. You’ll need one.”

Aardash scowled. “I’ll have you know I’m fluent in English _and_ Hindi. A little Punjabi too!”

“Pity you’re not playing India then.”

“India’s not in Europe, you block-headed Viking—“

“Leave him alone, Dash,” Emmy snapped, tightening her ponytail convulsively for the hundredth time. “Save it for the pitch.”

Aardash fell back, grumbling quietly. “Fine, but my first Bludger’s going straight for him.”

Harry’s knee was starting to jiggle up and down again, but this time, Evan was not near enough to place his hand on it, nor could he in full view of everyone else. Soon, as the rumbling of the crowd turned into a huge swell of voices, cheers, tooting horns and raucous singing, even the Swedes had fallen silent.

About fifteen minutes before kick-off, a loud Irish voice cut through the stadium, as loud as Bagman’s had been, audible even here in the Lounge.

“ _Ladies and gentlemen, take your seats, the match will be beginning shortly!”_

Loud cheers met this statement, and Harry’s stomach flipped. Fowler, who had sat motionless the entire time, nodded to the team and they stood up and followed him to the tunnel which led to the pitch. Harry walked like his legs were about to collapse under him.

The doors at the end of the tunnel let in two circles of light from porthole like windows, and two match officials were standing on either side, ready to open the doors at the signal. The England players lined up on the right, Evan at the front, and Harry at the back, and the Swedish lined up on the left, parallel to their opposing player. Harry was now shoulder to shoulder to Larsson. He wondered if he should say anything, wish him good luck or offer a small smile, but Larsson stared straight ahead the entire time. He was tapping his fingers against his broom in a repetitive rhythm.

The commentary began with five minutes to go.

“ _Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, to the one hundred and third European Quidditch Championship final!”_

A veritable roar came from the crowd and seemed to make the ground itself tremble.

“ _Only five minutes to go and the atmosphere in this stadium is absolutely incredible! We’re sure to be in for an exciting time tonight with one of the most highly anticipated Quidditch international games of recent years. I am one of your commentators, Barry Ryan, current Keeper for the Kenmare Kestrals and the Irish National Quidditch Team, victors of the 1994 World Cup.”_

A female voice now started. _“And I am Alice Cavanagh, former Chaser for the Dungannon Dragons and the Galway Goblins, and also an Irish National Team veteran.”_

The crowd roared their approval. Harry felt a sudden light-headedness as he realised Ryan, one of the players whom he’d come to see two years ago, was now going to be watching and commentating on _him._

Two places in front of him, Elias was rapidly hopping from foot to foot.

“If you need the toilet, Elias, now’s not the time,” Aardash said, prompting Elias to turn and hit him with his Beater’s bat.

“ _What a match we’ve got for you guys tonight. Sweden, who’ve been semi-finalists or finalists for the last three Championships in a row are hoping to finally lift that trophy tonight, and the odds are definitely in their favour!”_

_“That’s true, Barry. The Swedish team have been undefeated for the entirety of this tournament, winning each game by a clear two hundred points, largely thanks to their strong front three. Karlsson’s been a force to reckon with when training her team.”_

_“Yes, quite the dragon, so I hear! She’ll be hoping that all that work will have paid off and she can finally get revenge on Fowler for putting her out of action all those years ago. Some are saying this match is a little more than a front to settle a personal score.”_

At the edge of the tunnel, Fowler and Karlsson were standing side-by-side, both with rigid limbs, glaring in opposite directions from each other.

“ _Fowler has certainly been pushing his own team to extremes. They’re guarded every minute of the night and day, and there’s even been some rumours his players have been trying to slip him Sleeping Potions to get out of his brutal training regime.”_

Fowler scowled at the team, face turning red in fury. Aardash and Nate seemed to wilt slightly.

“ _I wouldn’t blame them, Alice. Fowler is one of the toughest there is. Doesn’t tolerate anything but perfection. Which makes his decision to put up two unknowns at the last moment such a surprising one.”_

_“Yes, indeed. England have soared through this competition, but with the recent hospitalisation of Keeper Aurelia Flint and Seeker Crawford Williams, there was fear that their winning streak might be over. The reserve Keeper has almost no experience and the new Seeker, (who’s only spent three weeks in training) has none at all in professional matches!”_

Evan twitched up ahead and Harry’s guts clenched even tighter.

“ _Yes, Turner and Potter. Two sixteen year olds. Said to have become quite good friends over the last few weeks.”_

_“Pity Seekers and Keepers have little to do with each other on the pitch.”_

“ _Very true. We’ll just have to wait and see if Fowler’s big gamble pays off. Personally, I’m not optimistic, but we’ll see what happens. Sounds like Fowler’s had his head turned by the recent Chosen One rumours to me!”_

“Like to see him say that with my old Beater’s bat in my hand,” Fowler growled. “That half-brained git doesn’t know the first thing about it. His team carried him through that World Cup and he’s biased against us now cause we put Ireland out during the knock out stages.”

“ _Of course, as well as playing in his first international game, today is also England Seeker Harry Potter’s sixteenth birthday!”_ The crowd screamed their congratulations as Harry got over hearing himself described as ‘England Seeker Harry Potter’. “ _This makes Potter the youngest ever player in any domestic or international professional Quidditch game since records began.”_

_“One for the history books! I wonder how well he’ll take the pressure?”_

_“We’ll just have to wait and see. Apparently, the England team threw Potter a birthday party this morning. Will they be having an even bigger one tonight, do you think?”_

_“I don’t know, Barry. Karlsson’s team are on the finest form they’ve ever been. But the European Championship Cup would certainly be one heck of a birthday present.”_

Harry almost couldn’t bear this build-up. He could hear the crowd stamping their feet, shouting and cheering, though he couldn’t make out who for. Were they supporting him, or laughing at him?

One of the Swedish players, Svensson, turned around to look at Harry. “Happy birthday,” he said, with a smile.

“Thanks,” Harry muttered, even as at the same time, both Karlsson and Fowler barked at their respective players:

“Don’t talk to him!”

Svensson and Harry looked away from each other quickly.

Harry passed his Firebolt from one hand to the other, drowning out the commentary as best he could. He wanted this over with. He wanted the doors just to open so they could fly out and get on with it. This waiting was excruciating.

He had a sudden urge to turn and run as the Irish Ministry wizards moved forwards to open the doors to the tunnel, spilling brilliant light in towards them as the roar of the crowd grew louder as if the volume had been turned up on a radio. Evan turned around from his position at the head of the line to smile at Harry. His hair was shining in the blazing lights from the pitch. Harry’s urge to run faded slightly.

_“It’s almost here folks! Get ready to welcome to the pitch the Swedish National Quidditch Team!”_ Ryan’s voice boomed across the stadium. As one, the Swedish players all climbed onto their broomsticks and floated off the ground, waiting.

“ _I give you—Andersson!”_

The Keeper at the head of the Swedish line whooshed out of the tunnel, sending everyone’s robes flapping in his wake. Wild applause greeted his appearance outside. Harry was taken back to the Quidditch World Cup, watching the players streaming out at the sound of their names. Now he was on the other side of it.

“ _Lindberg!”_

The next player shot out, hair streaming behind her.

_“Ström! Eklund! Svensson! Hansen! Aaaaaand – Larsson!”_

All the Swedish players had now gone, and the tunnel seemed coldly empty. Harry’s heart started beating even faster.

“ _And now, in lieu of mascots after the unfortunate spectacle of the Irish and Bulgarian mascots at the Quidditch World Cup—sorry, folks! —the Swedish team will now give us their display!”_

The crowd began to whoop and cheer as the Swedish players began their acrobatic aerial stunts, and though Harry could not see them, he did not much like how well it was coming off. He fiddled anxiously with the coloured smoke cannisters on his broomstick. Had this been a stupid idea? What if it went wrong?

Also appearing to grow nervous, Aardash began to flap his hands. “Is it really hot in here?”

“Calm it, Dash,” Becca said. “Relax.”

“Relax? We’re about to go and spew smoke all over a stadium. They’ll hate it!”

“Shut it!” Emmy had turned around to glare at him. “We are going to be fine. Stop freaking everyone else out.”

Despite her words, her own face looked paler than usual.

Aardash swallowed timidly. He offered her a weaker version of his most charming smile. “Give us a kiss for good luck?”

To the absolute astonishment of the entire team, Emmy surged towards Aardash and planted a smacking kiss right on his lips, making Aardash’s eyes grow to the size of saucers. She then made her way up and down the row of players, kissing each of them (this time on the cheek) before returning to her position.

“We don’t need good luck,” she said, ignoring Aardash’s dazed expression and the incredulous stares from her fellow team members. “But it doesn’t hurt to have some anyway.”

This bizarre incident almost managed to dispel some of Harry’s nerves, and he laughed softly as he and the others climbed onto their brooms (Aardash fumbling slightly, a misty expression in his eyes). Harry’s Firebolt hung in the air, perfectly balanced, raring to go. There was phenomenal crash of applause as the Swedish team finished their routine.

“ _Well, that was lovely!”_ Cavanagh observed. “ _Some real skill on display there! They only had twenty-hour’s notice, after all. Wonder if England’s will be any better?”_

_“Hope so, Alice, because here they come. The English National Quidditch Team! Presenting—Turner!”_

Harry’s heart leapt as he saw Evan go hurtling out of the tunnel away from him. The roar from the crowd greeted them all anew.

“ _Sanderson!”_

Emmy rushed after Evan, the crowd yelling again, this time with several appreciative whistles, which Harry knew Emmy would not welcome in the context of a serious game.

“ _Haynes!”_

Becca was gone in a flash.

_“Watson!”_

Nate followed his girlfriend, leaving Harry alone with the two Beaters. He began to wonder if he still had time to be sick.

“ _Parker!”_

Elias flew off, and Harry imagined Ron training his omnioculars on him, desperate to see his favourite player. All the Weasleys were out there—possibly also many of the students from Hogwarts. The hands on his broom handle began to sweat.

_“Khatri!”_

Aardash zoomed out of sight.

Harry was now alone. Was it too late to back out?

“ _Aaaaaand – Potter!”_

Hearing his name being yelled across a stadium of tens of thousands of people sent a bolt of lightning through Harry’s body. He urged his Firebolt onwards, spurred on with the waves of fire which were now surging through his veins and emerged into a dazzling inferno of colour and light.

Harry accelerated furiously as he began to soar across the stands, which were no longer empty, but thronged with a heaving mass of people screaming at the top of their lungs. It was like being caught inside a glitter ball while standing next to the engine of a jet plane. Thousands of magical lights were flashing around him, and the stadium appeared as two solid blocks of colour; one side red and white, the other blue and yellow. The deafening roar of the crowd at his appearance could be either friendly or hostile—Harry was too blinded to be able to see the faces of any of the spectators – and the noise of the shouts was intermingled with the cacophonous sound of national anthems playing discordantly over the top of each other as the rippling crowd waved their many flags.

All at once, Harry’s nerves started to fade away. This was what he loved. This was what he was _good_ at. And every single one of those people in red and white, whether they had faith in him or not, was screaming his name, egging him on to victory.

The world was passing by in too much of a blur to see anything clearly, let alone try and search for the Weasleys, though he was unsure if that was a blessing or not. He did however notice a huge scoreboard high up in the stands as he soared by reading: SWEDEN- ZERO, ENGLAND- ZERO.

After an initial lap of the grounds, Harry joined the others who were hovering in mid-air waiting for him. Harry had almost forgotten about the display, and hurriedly got himself into his position in the v-formation.

“ _And now for the England team’s display!”_

With Evan at the tip of the v and everyone else exactly distanced out across the arms, they began their flight around the stadium at full speed. When Evan raised his hand, they all kicked the switches on their cannisters to release their coloured smoke.

The crowd cheered as streams of white and red smoke billowed from behind their broomsticks in perfect parallel lines, creating a sort of halo around the stands which lingered in the air like a protective covering over the stadium. Spectators ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ as the team soared overhead.

Then, as the crowd were beginning to applaud, Becca broke off and ceased her flow of red smoke, kicking her white into gear and beginning to trace the shape of the dragon in the air above the centre of the pitch. At her signal, the rest of them followed, and as one, they dived through the opening of the dragon’s jaws and released their red smoke, spiralling and curling from it like great tongues of fire. The crowd’s well-timed roar brought the dragon even further to life, and the applause became rapturous.

“ _Well, that was certainly impressive!”_ Cavanagh sounded breathless. “ _What perfect tandem flying—what control!”_

_“Yes, definitely far more interesting than the Swedish team’s! I can certainly spot Chaser Rebecca Haynes’ creative eye there.”_

_“Actually, Barry, my sources tell me it was Potter’s idea.”_

_“Really? Well, at least if everything goes belly-up for him tonight, he’ll have contributed something useful!”_

Harry ignored this last comment, too elated at how well that had come off, high-fiving the other team members. They all dived closer to the ground as they unclasped the buckles around their brooms to release the now empty cannisters. They veered off to swoop over the stands again.

Harry was almost coming to enjoy himself as he flew above the crowd. Omniocular lenses flashed in his direction and he knew thousands of people were eager to get a closer look at him, evaluating every move he made. He found he didn’t actually mind.

_“And here comes our referee from sunny Malta, Chairwitch of the European Association of Quidditch, Francesca Agius!”_

A short witch in golden robes walked out onto the pitch far below, carrying a large wooden crate under one arm and her broom under the other.

“ _Players, take your positions!”_

Harry’s heart sank briefly after the excitement of his debut on the pitch and the dread threatened to overcome him again. He breathed slowly and deeply as he made his way to the Seeker’s position, high up in the air above the rest of the players. Across from him, Larsson was eyeing him closely, face inscrutable.

Looking away from Larsson, Harry watched closely as the referee climbed onto her broom and kicked open the crate—four balls flew into the air, the scarlet Quaffle, two black Bludgers which soon shot out of sight, and the Golden Snitch, which Harry saw for only the briefest of seconds before it too vanished. He felt a jolt to his stomach as he saw it, and almost began to feel his brain sliding into gear.

_Okay, I can do this. I can catch it. I’ll find it._

Larsson had also been watching the Snitch. As it sped off, he raised his eyes again to Harry’s and lifted one eyebrow. Harry faced him down fiercely; he was no token famous name or clueless teenager—he was a serious player. He’d show him.

Agius raised her whistle to her lips and gave a sharp blast.

“ _Theeeeeeey’re OFF!”_ screamed Ryan. _“And it’s Sanderson! Watson! Haynes! Lindberg intercepts—Eklund! Ström! Stolen by Sanderson! Watson again! Heading towards the goals—Andersson comes forward—he dives— WATSON SCORES!”_

The sounds of the England flags and dragon hats joined the tumultuous roar as Nate scored the first goal of the match, barely thirty seconds in. Harry, who was now well into his searching, grinned as he flew past him, a leaping sensation in his guts. He knew the statistics; the team which scored first in Cup finals usually went on to win.

The Chasers resumed their fierce gameplay as Harry tried his best to filter out what was going on and force a calm on his brain. His eyes darted here and there as he searched. As he had expected, the golden glow of the stadium and the flashing of the lights and lenses were making things more difficult, but he had come prepared for that. Haynes had showed him a little trick of hers, enchanting his glasses for him to filter out the worst of the light.

At all times, he kept his eye on Larsson who was circling below him. He remembered Viktor’s words; Larsson was most dangerous in the first half hour of the match. That was when he made his most spectacular captures, took the most chances at the Snitch. After that, it was a tailing game.

_“Ström has the Quaffle! Passes to Eklund! To Lindberg! To Ström again! What a formation—they approach the England goals and—”_

Despite himself, Harry turned to watch. Evan’s figure was very far away, but Harry could almost see the look of concentration on his face as he judged the intentions of the Swedish players.

“ _Ström shoots—Turner saves! What a skilful block!”_

Harry grinned as the England fans cheered. He could not resist swooping past Evan on his next circuit. Now everyone else was getting to see how amazing he was too.

Ten minutes of fast and furious play commenced. England scored three more times before the Swedes managed to get one past Evan, and goals for both sides poured in rapidly. Harry could not believe how fast the Chasers were moving as they threw the Quaffle between them, employing incredible flying formations and tricks to assume possession. At times they appeared almost like a blur.

True to his promise, Aardash had soon hit a Bludger squarely at Ström, catching him in the stomach, causing a loud groan from the Swedish stands. He was incapacitated only for a few moments however, and the Swedish Beaters, Hansen and Svensson, were soon retaliating brutally. Referee Agius blew her whistle again and again as Beaters on both sides kept up a ferocious onslaught of the other team. When Elias sent one at Andersson, the Swedish Keeper, when the Quaffle was not in the scoring area, Agius awarded Sweden a penalty.

_“I see Theo “The Fouler” Fowler has been passing on some dirty tricks_ ,” observed the commentator. _“Foolish move, that one. You’ll see why in a moment … Lindberg takes the penalty and—of course, scores easily. Fifty-eighty to England!”_

Harry assumed another search pattern as fifteen more minutes passed in frantic gameplay. Sweden soon equalised, then England pulled ahead again. Then it was Sweden in front. Then England again. Soon, it was one hundred and forty – one hundred and fifty to Sweden. The two sets of Chasers and Keepers were perfectly matched and Fowler’s prediction that it was all going to come down to the Snitch seemed accurate. He stepped up his game.

Sweden scored four more goals. England scored five. The crowd was going wild. It wasn’t often they saw two teams so evenly matched and achieving such high scores in the first twenty minutes.

Harry saw Evan as he passed by. The other boy was focusing fiercely, concentration written into every line of his face. His eyes were moving around at a dizzying speed as he followed the progress of the Quaffle coming towards him in the rapidly changing hands of the players. Although the score sounded bad, he’d saved far more goals than he’d let in. The opposing Chasers were only managing to get past him about a quarter of the time.

Harry was torn from his admiration of Evan by the awful sound of a loud gasp from the spectators. Harry, who had taken his eyes off Larsson for a second, had missed the sight of the other Seeker suddenly descending downwards, hand outstretched.

Harry did not think. He immediately plunged after Larsson, accelerating at the speed only a Firebolt could, and soon caught up. Everything else in the stadium was blocked out. All he could hear was the rushing of the wind in his ears.

Harry’s training kicked in. Instead of heading for the Snitch, he went straight for Larsson; the Snitch was at a too steep angle for him to turn effectively without losing speed. Larsson, who had become aware of the white and scarlet figure barrelling towards him, flinched and swerved out of the way slightly to avoid a collision.

Taking advantage of this second’s long distraction, Harry twisted in mid-air to get himself into the trail of the Snitch, which he could see several feet ahead, fluttering wildly. His heart was in his mouth as Larsson also manoeuvred round to come shoulder to shoulder with him.

The Snitch had stopped descending about ten feet from the ground and had turned onto a horizontal path. Harry swore; horizontal was Larsson’s specialty. He had to do something.

Employing a tactic Fowler had taught him, he began to twist turn around Larsson, swooping and diving at a rapid pace, revolving so rapidly in barrel rolls he began to feel dizzy, but kept on, aiming to interfere with the wind streaming past Larsson’s form, introduce some drag. He came as close as he could without touching him (which would be a foul) and saw happily that Larsson was squinting and flinching as Harry darted in and out of his vision to distract him, his broom tail twigs coming at his face, the speed of Harry’s Firebolt interfering with the air currents around them. Harry needed to slow him down, open up a gap ahead.

“ _Look at the Seekers go!”_ Harry became aware of the commentary again. “ _Fighting tooth and nail for the Snitch! Would you look at this! They’re neck and neck! There’s almost nothing in it! I can’t call it— AND POTTER’S IN THE LEAD!”_

And indeed he was. Larsson had slowed a fraction of an inch and allowed Harry the advantage, pulling out in front of him easily. Harry’s heart swelled, even as the screaming of the England fans did as he saw the little golden ball mere inches away. He could almost taste victory. He lifted his hand to reach out for it—

A black mass came hurtling towards him from his left side, and Harry instinctively flinched and jerked his head back as the Bludger came so close to him it skimmed the very end tip of his broomstick and forced it backwards – only a graze, but it was enough.

Sent off course by the Bludger’s brief contact, Harry lost control of his speed and direction. A solid force rammed into Harry with the power of a charging bull as Larsson collided with him and they both began to fall in a mass of tangled limbs, slamming into the hard earth of the velvety green pitch below them.

The Swedish and English fans groaned in unison.

Harry coughed and lay still; the impact had forced all the breath from his body. A few feet away, Larsson was also winded, and struggling to move. Shakily, Harry sat back up, rapidly assessing his body to see if there was any damage. Apart from a slight ringing in his ears, he seemed fine.

He stood up and fetched his Firebolt from the ground beside him. Mediwizards had rushed out to tend to the both of them, but Harry shook his head to send them back, eager to get back into things. Larsson also appeared uninjured. In fact, he was glowering up at the Swedish Beater Freja Hansen, who was hovering above him looking mortified. He shouted something at her, and Harry didn’t need to understand Swedish to know he wasn’t happy.

_Good_ , Harry thought. _Get angry. Get reckless._

“ _Nasty crash there right at a pivotal moment, but both Seekers seem okay!”_ Cavanagh announced to the crowd. “ _They’re climbing back onto their brooms to resume the search for the Snitch, which is now presumably long gone.”_

Harry breathed deeply for a moment as he mounted his Firebolt before kicking off again. _You’re okay. You’re fine. Focus._

He glanced over at Larsson, also fetching his own broom. The Seeker gave Harry a strange new look as he mounted it. It was appreciative, almost one of respect.

“ _Foolish move there by the Swedish Beater. But of course, hit first and think later always has been Hansen’s go-to move when it comes to Bludgers. She might have just cost her team the victory there.”_

_“Indeed. Unfortunate that manager Karlsson couldn’t cure her of that.”_

Harry was soon back in the air to loud cheers from the England fans. He kept an eye on Larsson as he too took to the skies.

“ _I don’t think anyone will be underestimating Potter now, Barry,”_ Cavanagh was saying. “ _That surely was a close-fought thing. Larsson must be wanting to keep a closer eye on Potter from now on!”_

_I hope so,_ Harry thought, dashing off through the mass of players. He thought back to all his tactical meetings and his conversations with Viktor. Larsson got impatient quickly. After a setback like this, he was more likely to take to tailing Harry instead of searching for the Snitch himself. Especially now that he was finally starting to regard him in a higher light.

The game continued for another twenty minutes, the goal-scoring now decreasing in frequency as Evan and Andersson both upped their games in incredible style. But now, Harry didn’t allow himself to be distracted by Evan. The Snitch was all he cared about. Evan could take a Bludger to the head and it wouldn’t stop him.

_I’m turning into Fowler_ , Harry thought wretchedly. But he still didn’t falter.

The game had now been going on for an hour, and true darkness had fallen around the stadium, not that it got any duller inside, nor did the pace slacken. There were two brief time outs as Eklund and then Nate both were hit by Bludgers, but they soon resumed play with as much vigour as before.

It was then Harry noticed that Larsson was following him. Without getting too hopeful yet, Harry tested it out, going up, then down, then left, observing Larsson from the corner of his eye and by his shadow on the ground. He even stopped briefly to pretend to survey the pitch, seeing Larsson halt behind him. Yes, definitely following him. He felt a spark of excitement as all Viktor’s training kicked in. Time for the Wronski Feint.

_First, make sure he keeps following for several minutes._ Harry continued on for another ten minutes, pretending not to have noticed Larsson’s pursuit, checking surreptitiously that he was indeed still following. He was.

_Second_ , _make sure he is within fifty feet._ Harry turned his head half an inch. Looked like fifty feet to him.

_Third, make him believe you’ve seen the Snitch._ Harry wasn’t much of an actor, but he’d practiced this too many times with Viktor not to know what to do now. Certain that Larsson was close and looking directly at his face, he slowed his pace and began to squint, as though peering at something. Then, he allowed his eyes to widen dramatically and an eager grin to appear on his lips.

_Fourth, don’t dive right away, make sure he follows_. A half second after his faked reaction he took off at almost full speed, aiming for a point slightly above him. Some seemed to have noticed, for there were some gasps from the crowd, but most were still unaware. Harry saw from the corner of his eye that Larsson had fallen for it and was pursuing.

_Fifth, make sure he is directly behind_. He was. Harry could no longer see him, but the other player’s shadow was still darting after him.

_Sixth, dive._

Harry took a deep breath and cleared his mind in a way Snape could only have dreamed of during his Occlumency lessons. A calm descended over him, and he jerked his head downwards as though he’d seen the Snitch change direction, and then pointed his Firebolt down at the steepest of angles and descended.

Harry accelerated as fast as his broom would allow him, seeing the green of the pitch rushing up towards him at a sickening rate. His stomach lurched as if on a rollercoaster. His robes were billowing, his hair streaming, he seemed unable to even breathe with the speed he was going. Harry’s body was almost flat against the broom, heading for solid ground like a speeding dart.

There was no fear inside him. None. He knew he could do this. He could pull up in time. _He could do this_.

Harry focused intently, waiting for that final crucial second, visualising the purple line Viktor had used in training. He gripped his broom handle tightly, tensing his muscles, ready to shift position when the moment came. Time seemed to slow down as he stared straight ahead.

_Seventh, pull up._

Just at the point when he was almost able to see the individual blades of grass, he finally reacted. With tremendous effort, he threw his entire weight behind his broom and lifted the handle, spiralling off up into the air at scarcely less speed than before.

The _crunch_ from behind, combined with the huge groan from the Swedish seats told him he’d been successful.

Harry twisted in the air to see Larsson lying sprawled on the earth again, his broomstick beneath him, splinters scattered around his body. He was moving only feebly and mediwizards were already rushing towards him.

Harry felt a momentary twinge of guilt before the England fans went absolutely crazy.

_“AND POTTER PULLS OFF AN ABSOLUTELY FLAWLESS WRONSKI FEINT!”_ Cavanagh was screaming, sounding as though she was jumping up and down. _“WHAT A FLIER!”_

_“Incredible!”_ Ryan was shouting. “ _Signature move of Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum executed perfectly there! He and Potter competed in the Triwizard Tournament together. I’ve definitely seen Krum hanging around the stadium a lot more the last couple weeks despite his own team’s defeat. It appears Potter’s been learning some new tricks from his former rival!”_

_“AMAZING USE OF CONTROL THERE_!” Cavanagh was still yelling insanely. “ _THIS BOY WILL GO FAR! CAN’T BELIEVE HE’S ONLY JUST TURNED SIXTEEN TODAY! DID YOU SEE HOW FAST THAT DIVE WAS?”_

“ _I certainly did! If there was anyone out there who still thought he doesn’t deserve to be here or that he got in on his name alone, he’s just blown that doubt right out the water! What an astonishing move!”_

Harry wasn’t even annoyed that it had been Ryan himself who had been expressing that same doubt at the start of the match, so elated was he at pulling it off. But after one quick grin and a high-five with a passing Emmy, he forced himself to focus again. The Feint was only the first part. Now, with Larsson getting treatment, he had to use this to his advantage and search uninterrupted.

The England fans were still going absolutely insane, but Harry drowned it out as best he could. Ten minutes passed and Larsson still wasn’t back on his feet, which meant the time out was over and normal play could resume. Harry was now the only active Seeker, but he knew Larsson could still re-join at any point, so he did not allow himself to get complacent.

Harry had never searched for a Snitch this intensely before, aware at any moment that Larsson would recover, and swept the stadium thoroughly from one end to the other, desperate for a flash of gold which wasn’t the lens of a set of omnioculars. Thinking he had seen something, he dived towards the pitch again to get a closer look, head turning from left to right frantically.

As he did so, he became aware of two hulking shapes pressing in from either side—the Swedish Beaters. He ducked quickly as one of the figures hit a Bludger at him, but the other one on his other side, reacting with lightning fast accuracy, hit the Bludger back straight away and it ploughed directly into Harry’s right side.

With a cry of pain, he felt himself be thrown from his broom, and, for the second time that match (not a promising statistic for a sport played in the air) he hit the ground hard. He groaned as he rolled across the pitch, smearing his white robes with more grass stains. The England fans booed intensely.

_“The Bully Bogroff manoeuvre,”_ Ryan informed the crowd. “ _Brutal, but effective. Hansen and Svensson’s speciality.”_

Harry thought at first he could get back up like his last fall, but as he attempted it, he felt a stabbing pain below his right arm all along his ribcage. Breathing was painful too. He fell back on the pitch, face screwed up with the effort of not crying aloud.

“ _Time out! Looks like Potter’s injured!”_ Cavanagh said. “ _Point blank Bludgers are especially vicious.”_

Mediwizards had soon surrounded him, and the closest one was kneeling beside him. He ran his wand over Harry’s side.

“Four shattered ribs,” he tutted. “Severe haemorrhaging.”

“Just fix it,” Harry said through gritted teeth. He didn’t want to waste any more of his borrowed time from Larsson’s injury. He could see the other Seeker still lying on the pitch several feet away being tended to, now under a small gazebo like structure for some semi-privacy. Larssson was now fully awake, looking like he was only minutes away from taking to his broom again.

The mediwizards handed him potions to drink as the first one cast some spells over Harry’s side, making the ribs crack unpleasantly as they were pushed back into position. He grimaced, but did not whimper as he felt it, highly aware that tens of thousands of people were watching him, most with Omnioculars pointed towards him to get an extreme close-up. He suddenly felt an outpouring of sympathy for the injured Aiden Lynch when Harry had been one of the ones staring at _him_ during the World Cup as he recovered from Krum’s Feint.

After a few minutes, the first wizard had finished and Harry’s side, though tender, did not cause him the excruciating agony of before. With his help, he sat up and drank another potion thrust at him, not even stopping to ask what it was.

Through the crowd of mediwizards, Harry saw that Evan, who had been the closest player to where he’d fallen, had also landed and was watching him worriedly. That expression buoyed Harry so much he managed to rise to his feet with the assistance of the closest mediwizard to loud cheers from the crowd.

Aardash had now also landed beside him. “You okay, mate? I’ll get them back, don’t worry.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, more to Evan than to him. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Evan’s voice was quiet but laced with concern.

Harry nodded. “I can keep playing.”

They both nodded, and a moment later all three were back in the air and play resumed. Harry played through the throbbing soreness in his ribs, gripping his handle more tightly against the persistent ache. He could not waste any time.

A roar from the Swedish players told him that Larsson was back in play, and his heart sank. He soon noticed Larsson following him again, though probably more cautiously than before. To Harry’s pleasure, he saw that Larsson’s broom had been severely damaged and now flew with a significant pull to the left. Larsson himself also still appeared a bit dazed, his eyes much more unfocused. Despite Harry’s own injury, Larsson was in still worse shape. If Harry saw the Snitch now, it would be to his advantage.

Deciding to press this advantage even further, Harry looped back and swooped and dived all around Larsson as he had before, trying to distract him. Larsson was extremely disoriented, frowning in confusion, and after repeated dives to avoid Harry, he had to stop entirely, holding his head in his hands as if drunk and seeing double.

Seizing his chance, Harry sped off again. The match was now approaching its second hour. He had to find the Snitch now. He _had_ to.

Then, incredibly, Harry saw a flash of gold by the Swedish goalposts. Almost unable to believe it for a moment, he hesitated to be certain it was not a reflection from the posts themselves. The score was now two hundred and ninety to three hundred and ten to England. If he caught it now …

Forgetting all distracting pain, all thoughts of blond Keepers, Harry raced after it, accelerating like a jet plane, not taking his eyes from it for a second.

The crowd inhaled as one as Harry shot straight through the Swedish Chasers and then entered into yet another dramatic dive as the Snitch went downwards. Larsson was after him, but was miles behind, unable to catch up on his damaged broomstick. Harry was in front. He was so close …

Letting go of his Firebolt with his right hand, Harry stretched out and reached for the Snitch, his muscles straining, fingers splayed –

The tiny struggling Snitch found itself firmly trapped as Harry’s palm clenched around it, wings beating a feeble protest against his fingers.

Harry pulled out of his dive and raised the Snitch high in the air, and the roar of the crowd was the loudest sound Harry had ever heard—louder than the roar of the Hungarian Horntail, perhaps even louder than the Irish when they had won the World Cup.

A spasm of sheer joy radiated outwards from somewhere in Harry’s chest, and his entire body seemed to expand like an inflating balloon until he thought he could have been flying even without his Firebolt under him.

“ _POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH! ENGLAND WINS!”_

Harry’s jubilant celebratory flight was cut short as the entire England team descended on him in mid-air, each one of them attempting to pull him into a hug all at once. Harry’s euphoric grin was matched by the ones on their faces as tears of delight streamed down their cheeks. Nate was whooping, Emmy was sobbing, Elias was punching the air. Harry was thumped on the back, punched on the arm, kissed on the cheek, pulled this way and that as they all celebrated together as one glorious mass to the cheering of the ecstatic England fans all around them.

But Harry didn’t have eyes for them. Evan’s face was close to his own, shining with joy, looking happier than Harry had ever seen him. Harry himself was feeling happier than he ever had in his life. Evan pulled him into a hug, and Harry returned it enthusiastically, feeling Aardash and Nate pile themselves on top as well, laughing like maniacs.

They were in severe danger of falling out the air, and they somehow managed to descend to continue the celebration on the pitch, casting aside their broomsticks. Most of the team took to dancing with their arms around each other’s shoulders, seizing an England flag someone had thrown on the pitch and waving it triumphantly. Nate and Aardash had seized Harry and lifted him onto their shoulders. As Harry grinned and lifted his right hand, the Snitch still clutched inside, the crowd bellowed their approval, stamping their feet so loudly it was like an earthquake. From across the pitch, Harry could see Fowler jumping up and down, all his dourness and grumpiness of before entirely banished by the glowing grin on his face as he danced a strange sort of jig in sheer ecstasy.

Somehow, they managed to hear the Irish officials instructing them to perform their lap of honour, and as they took to the sky again, Harry could not remember a more incredible moment than this, soaring over a sea of red and white as thousands of witches and wizards screamed his name.

They landed after their lap and were guided towards a long set of steps leading to the Top Box. Harry climbed, legs trembling beneath him. England supporters on either side were reaching out to shake the hands of the players, their applause and screams of support loud in their ears.

They waited outside the Top Box while the Swedish players, who had ascended ahead of them, were presented with a medal and shook hands with various officials, Sweden fans thundering their appreciation for their defeated team as their names were announced one by one.

Then, it was the England team’s turn.

As Harry remembered happening with the Irish team, they filed in one by one to the Top Box, which was illuminated by brilliant magical spotlights, even as thousands upon thousands of omniocular lenses were trained on them.

They shook hands with someone Harry assumed was the Irish Minister for Magic (by this point he simply didn’t care) and had a medal hung around their necks. The two commentators were there, and Harry saw Cavanagh clapping fiercely, awestruck eyes on Harry.

Someone handed the Irish Minister a shining golden cup which caught the reflection of the dazzling lights and gleamed like fire. The Minister was going to present it to Becca, who was the closest, but she shook her head and gestured for Harry to come forwards.

Feeling numb, Harry stepped up and took the heavy Cup into his hands. He experienced a silent moment of solemnity, a sudden realisation of ‘ _I did it’_ before he turned around and lifted the Cup high into the air to the rapturous screams of the England fans.

Arms aching with the weight, he passed it on to the rest of the team, each of whom held it aloft to yet more ear-splitting roars. Emmy was sobbing worse than ever, and when she had passed the Cup onto Elias, she threw her arms around Harry again.

“Thank you!” she choked. “I’m sorry I _ever_ doubted you!”

Then she swooped down and planted another kiss on his cheek, making several in the stadium begin to whistle and whoop. Emmy and Harry laughed it off and she ruffled his hair. Evan was pressed up very close behind Harry, and Harry’s cheeks flamed worse than ever, a combination of joy and sheer exhilaration at being able to share this with him.

They formed a long line, arms around each other’s shoulders and leaping up and down with wild abandon. The spectators in the Top Box joined them; they too were losing all control. Viktor Krum was there, clapping fiercely and bestowing a rare grin on Harry.

_“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—THE EUROPEAN CHAMPIONSHIP WINNERS OF 1996: ENGLAND_!” Ryan announced to more screams. “ _No one will forget this match in a while!”_

_“DEFINITELY NOT!”_ Cavanagh cried. “ _Four hundred and sixty— two hundred and ninety to England! There hasn’t been a margin as high as that in a final in decades! All thanks to those INCREDIBLE Chasers, Emmeline Sanderson, Nathaniel Watson and Rebecca Haynes,—_ ” loud applause here, “— _those FEROCIOUS Beaters, Aardash Khatri and Elias Parker_ —“ yet more hollering, “ _and let’s not forget, in their FIRST EVER APPEARANCES FOR A NATIONAL TEAM, that FABULOUS Keeper and SENSATIONAL Seeker, Evander Turner and Harry Potter!”_

The cheers could have blown the top of the stadium, had it had one.

Harry turned to Evan, who was standing next to him, seeing him beaming as broadly as Harry knew he was too. As one, the team joined hands and lifted their arms aloft, bowing, and then standing still with hands still together in the air, Harry holding onto a blubbering Aardash and a trembling Evan.

As Harry stood there, hearing what seemed like the whole world cheering for him, the Cup glittering in front of him, Evan’s hand in his own, he knew that that Irish commentator had been right at the beginning of the match.

This _was_ one heck of a birthday present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought! :)


	19. A Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it's now past midnight where I am ... Happy New Year everyone! Thanks for the amazing response to the last chapter! :D
> 
> Apologies for not posting lately. Life's been crazy. Like the whole year. But hey, Christmas, my birthday and New Year celebrations are over and my area's back in lockdown so I have more time to get back to updating regularly!

For hours after the match, the entire team was in a semi-delirious state, and Harry half-wondered if it was all a dream. He found himself constantly drawn into spontaneous hugs, even from complete strangers who’d been part of the English delegation’s behind the scenes efforts, but he didn’t care. Even when the team had finally managed to be propelled towards the Press Room for the post-match interviews they were still celebrating and singing at random. Harry thought his cheeks would be permanently damaged by all the smiling he was doing.

The atmosphere in the Press Room was entirely different to the last time they’d been here, and Harry was perfectly relaxed in his chair as the journalists (many of whom seem half wild themselves) surged in. Not a single one was looking at Harry with anything other than respect now. Even Derricks, the sceptical radio host, came up and began shaking Harry’s hand profusely before beginning the broadcast.

Predictably, after Fowler’s initial statement, which was uncharacteristically effusive and punctuated with tears, the first questions came to Harry.

“That Wronski Feint, Mr. Potter, it was incredible!” cried the reporter from _Quidditch Monthly_ who had been so cynical before the match. “Did it take a lot of practice?”

“Uh, yeah!” Harry said, making everyone laugh. “It’s _really_ hard!”

“Did Viktor Krum teach it to you? You know him after all, don’t you?”

“Yeah, he did,” Harry said, making a mental note to track Viktor down and give him a huge hug whether he wanted one or not. “And I’m so grateful. He’s a great teacher, and really patient. I destroyed a _lot_ of practice brooms.”

“Yeah, till this morning there was a little Harry shaped crater in the pitch,” Aardash joked, making Harry elbow him in the ribs as the journalists laughed again.

“Ha ha, Dash. I really wanted to try out that move after I saw it at the World Cup final. Me and Viktor have been practicing every couple of days for the last two weeks. That was the first time I did it full speed though.”

“Were you aware of these practice sessions Mr. Fowler?”

“Course I was!” Fowler barked incredulously. “Left him so battered and bruised sometimes he could barely sit on his broom for the team practices! But it was worth it, I told him, if it could wipe that smug smirk off Karlsson’s face. And it did! IT BLOODY DID!”

This statement was bellowed so loudly, and with such a thumping of Fowler’s fists against the table that the closest journalists edged backwards as though he were some wild animal. The rest of the team, unfazed by now by these random outbursts, just laughed.

“Mr. Potter,” another journalist asked. “What does the future hold for you now? Will you return to Hogwarts or be looking to pursue a professional career?”

Harry stared, never having expected this. He hadn’t even thought about it. To him, the future had always been so blighted by thoughts of Voldemort, and recently, of the prophecy. Despite the lure of more glory like this, he knew deep down that he couldn’t simply give up on school during a war like this one.

“I’ll be going back to Hogwarts,” Harry said, making many there looked amazed. “I need to finish school. After that, I don’t know. We’ll see.”

_We’ll see if I survive_ , he thought privately, but did not allow himself to venture too far down this path. He was still too happy to allow thoughts of Voldemort to ruin this moment.

“Well, there’s a place at Puddlemere United for you when you leave if you want it!” Fowler shouted. “If Williams was stupid enough to get himself poisoned three weeks before the final, I’m not sure I want him anymore. Besides, he could never have pulled off that last dive.”

Harry blushed furiously, head positively swimming. A professional career in Quidditch. Was this really going to be his life?

“Well, I’m sure the Gryffindor Quidditch Team will be thrilled to have you back for another two years. The other Houses will be quaking in their boots now!”

_I hope so,_ Harry thought, thinking privately of Malfoy with another large grin. The other players then faced their own barrage of questions. Emmy was still crying heavily as though she simply couldn’t stop, and choked her way through her questions, bursting into fresh floods when one journalist praised her for achieving the record-number of goals scored in a European Championship (sixty-three over the course of the competition). Harry was experiencing a constant buzzing happiness as he listened in. He was so thrilled for them all. He’d only been here for three weeks; the rest of them had been working on this for months. They deserved far more praise than he was getting just for swooping in at the last minute.

But most of all, he was delighted for Evan, who was now getting all the acclaim he deserved. The journalists plied him with questions, complimenting him on his incredible and unique style of Keeping. Harry watched, entranced, as Evan answered all questions with much more ease than he had at the last conference, a thrilled grin on his face. For the first time, everyone here was seeing what Harry saw. Stripped of all his shyness, he appeared like a different person entirely, completely without reserve, the excitement bubbling off him. _This means so much to him_ , Harry thought as he watched, _he’s always been so cut off from everyone. He’s never been this comfortable before._

After an hour or so of increasingly hyperbolic statements and jabbering questions, the interview was beginning to wrap up.

“So what will you all be doing now?” the host, Derricks asked them all. “Celebrating in the Players’ Lodge?”

“Hell yeah!” almost the entire team cried in unison.

“We’ve got a party planned that you wouldn’t believe,” Aardash said, grinning. “Emmy’s parties are always the best. It’s going to be insane. Plus, we’ve still got most of Harry’s birthday cake to get through and Elias’s baking is to _die_ for. You won’t be seeing any of us until tomorrow!”

“Yeah,” agreed Nate, snorting. “Pity Evan and Harry can’t take advantage of all the Firewhisky we’ve been stockpiling!”

With some more laughs, the conference was concluded, with a more journalists pushing forwards to shake their hands and congratulate them. They left the stadium shortly afterwards to head up to the Players’ Lodge. After they were outside and just after entering the rear garden gate, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder suddenly.

He jumped and turned on the spot to see Kingsley grinning down at him.

“Well done, Harry!” he cried, slapping him on the back. “That was incredible!”

“You were watching?”

“Of course!” Kingsley chuckled, falling into step with him as the rest of the team continued on, still singing wildly. “I’ve been one of the Aurors on the security detail around the Lodge. I’ve been watching you for a while. And a perk of that means I got one of the best views of the match.”

Harry only had a slight stab of worry when he found out Kingsley had been following him around, thinking about his ventures out of the Lodge with Evan, before dismissing it. He’d found out from Ron and Hermione that Kingsley was here, and he’d told them he’d only seen him walking up and down from the stadium.

“I can’t quite believe it,” Harry said, shaking his head. “It’s like a dream.”

“Well, you certainly weren’t sleeping around on the pitch—I’ve never seen anything like it!” Harry had never seen Kingsley, who was always so stoic and calm, look as excited as this before. “Listen—I was with the Weasleys yesterday and they asked if I could try and get you to go and see them after the match. You fancy it?”

“Really?” Harry was desperate to see them; he could easily imagine how they were celebrating. “Right now?”

“If you’re ready.”

After quickly running inside to drop his broomstick and lift a couple of things, Harry met Kingsley by the front gate, pulling his Invisibility Cloak over himself and they headed off for the campsite.

If Harry had thought it was crazy on the day before the match, it was positively bouncing now. They could barely move through the celebrating crowd, most of whom were dancing on the paths, pouring out drinks, singing raucously and setting off firecrackers with their wands. Kingsley found him in the darkness, and placed his hand on his back, guiding him to the far end of the campsite where there were the same two shabby tents from two years ago sitting beside a sign reading ‘Weasley’.

Harry felt a thrill of happiness as he heard the celebrations inside. Kingsley stopped and pressed a finger to his lips, a mischievous glint in his eye, before he opened the tent flap, Harry following the next moment.

Harry almost burst out laughing when he saw the scene inside. Every inch of the tent walls were covered in England team banners and posters of Harry (though he saw a couple of Emmy and Elias too) and the tent’s inhabitants were in the midst of boisterous party which seemed almost like a riot. Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Fred, George, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Lupin were all squashed inside, faces shining with exhilaration. All of them were wearing England rosettes, some with painted faces, and Fred and George were dancing around waving England fans, causing a deafening noise as two national anthems played over the top of each other at different speeds, both singing along in badly out of tune voices. A radio was playing in a corner, telling Harry they had probably just finished listening to the post-match interviews.

They all stopped to look as Kingsley entered.

“Couldn’t you find him?” Mrs Weasley asked, disappointed.

“Too much going on up at the Lodge,” Kingsley said, apologetically. “Can’t get anywhere near the team.”

“Typical,” Fred, shook his head. “A little bit of fame and it all goes to his head and we’re not good enough anymore!”

“He’s been famous almost all his life, Fred!”

“Still! Bet he’s too excited about that party to care about us.” Fred pouted dramatically.

“Well, can you blame him?” Charlie said. “Partying with the England team? Emmeline Sanderson and the rest? I bet he’s dying to get right in with her! You saw the kiss she gave him! We’re just dots to him now!”

“Actually, Emmy and Dash have a bit of a thing going now, so I don’t think I’ll bother,” Harry said, pulling off the Cloak with a grin. “But nice to know you all think so much of me.”

Screaming wildly, they all descended on him at once, hugging him, shaking his hand, grabbing him this way and that, ruffling his hair and slapping him on the back perhaps even more than the team had done when they’d won. Ron was sobbing freely, almost as much as his mother was, and Hermione hugged him so tightly he thought his ribs might crack again. Harry bore it all with yet more grins. He’d never smiled this much in his life.

Eventually, after about ten minutes of chaos, a partial calm descended and normal conversation could resume. They came to sit down on the various armchairs and pouffes dotted around the place, some sprawling on the ground, while Harry was propelled to a chair at the head of the seating area in a place of honour.

“Bloody hell, Harry, that was incredible!” Ron said, who had now seemed to find his voice. “I’ve never seen you fly like that before!”

“It’s so weird,” George said, staring at Harry. “We played on the same team as you for five years and we had no idea you were _that_ good. The rest of us must’ve been holding you back!”

“You don’t know what Fowler’s like in a training session,” Harry laughed. “And besides, the rest of the team were just as good. They’re incredible. They’re the ones who really deserve it.”

“Of course, but we expected that from them. And they probably wouldn’t have won if not for you with those other Chasers being so strong. As great as I thought you were, I _never_ thought you’d come out and pull off a performance like that!”

“Uh, thanks?”

“That Feint, Harry!” Charlie’s eyes were goggling. “I couldn’t believe it!”

“Yeah, Mum couldn’t even watch,” Ginny joked. “Did you really train with Krum?”

“Yeah, he’s been great,” Harry grinned. “He was desperate to get his own back on Larsson.”

“It was so dangerous though!” Mrs Weasley looked pale as she remembered. “And you said in the interview you’d crashed loads of times before. What on earth made you try it?”

“I wanted to win,” Harry shrugged, as most of her children looked at her incredulously. “And I’m glad I did. It gave me the edge at the end. Larsson couldn’t catch up.”

“He didn’t stand a chance the entire match.” Bill said, shaking his head. “You could tell from the start. Blimey, I’ve seen you fly around the orchard at the Burrow, Harry, but not like _that!”_

“Larsson saw the Snitch first though,” Harry pointed out, still annoyed at himself for that. “I dropped my game.”

“But the way you held him off! That was so cool!” Ron was saying. “If it wasn’t for that Bludger from Hansen you’d have got it then, even if Larsson did see it first.”

“How did he manage to surprise you, Harry?” Fred asked. “I was watching you. You had your eye on him most of the match, but then you looked away.”

Harry thought of how he’d been admiring Evan instead, and shifted awkwardly. “I thought I’d seen it up the other end,” he said instead. “But it was just one of those bloody omniocular lens reflections. I swear, they should be banned from matches. So distracting.”

“Sorry, mate. Some of those were ours.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry shrugged, and then winced slightly as his ribs ached, the adrenaline now wearing off slightly and allowing him to feel the pain again for the first time since he’d caught the Snitch.

“You okay?” Twelve people were immediately leaning towards him with anxious expressions.

“Yeah,” he said, trying to dispel their worry. “That last Bludger really got me, that’s all. Broke my ribs. It’s all fixed now, but it’s still a bit sore. I’ve to see the Healers again when I get back.”

“Maybe you should go back right now then,” Hermione said immediately. “That was so scary, Harry, seeing you get hit like that and not get back up. Like when you fell off your broom in third year.”

“Leave off, he’s obviously okay enough to be here,” Ron said, though Mrs Weasley looked as through she wanted to object. “Was a bit worrying though, mate. Two crashes in the one match? That’s professional Quidditch for you. More brutal than Hogwarts.”

“You’re not wrong,” Harry said, resting his hand lightly on his side.

“I think Larsson got the worse deal though,” Fred chuckled. “You really got him good. Ploughed into the ground like a cannonball. Karlsson will be gunning for you worse than ever now.”

Harry nodded, wondering just what Karlsson might resort to for revenge. If she’d hated him before, she must loathe him now.

“Look at these _robes_!” Ginny said admiringly, holding a fold and spreading it out. “I’d give my right arm for a set like these!”

“They’d probably cost both arms and both legs,” Charlie said, also coming to examine them. “Wow. Bet these ones don’t rip as easily as the Hogwarts ones!”

Harry was then instructed to stand up and let everyone have a closer look (Quidditch players the most intrigued), asking him questions about the texture, the warmth factor and other features. He revolved on the spot, a little bemused, feeling a bit like a model on a catwalk. Then the medal he still wore around his neck was also examined with something close to veneration.

“You still got the winning Snitch?” Charlie asked eagerly, and Harry produced it from his pocket. It too was passed around the gathered crowd with an awestruck reverent air for several minutes before it was passed back to Harry.

As he reached out to take it back, his sleeve rode up and his emerald security bracelet was exposed, with the little charm dangling out and catching the light.

“Oooh, what’s this?” Ginny asked, seizing his wrist.

“Security bracelet,” he said. “If I’m not wearing that in the Lodge, I basically disintegrate.”

“So, I can’t have it then?”

“Not really.”

“You know, I have one too,” Kingsley said, holding his up, face a mixture of disgruntled and amused. as this thing too was admired by the tent’s occupants. No one seemed to hear him.

They threw more questions at him, about the Lodge, the rest of the team, Fowler, and the pre-match display (“Did you _really_ come up with that idea?”), and it seemed as if their curiosity would never be satiated. Their feverish excitement was infectious, and Harry was completely caught up in it.

Lupin, who had mostly stayed quiet, came forwards during a lull in conversation.

“You were amazing, Harry,” he said, voice a little thick. “Your dad would be so proud. Sirius too.”

Harry looked up at him, suddenly feeling a prickling at his eyes. He nodded, too overcome to speak.

In an attempt to lighten up the abruptly changed atmosphere, Mrs Weasley came and hugged Harry, kissing him on the cheek. “We can’t say well done enough, Harry. I’m so glad I came to see you, even if I did almost have several heart attacks during it. Happy birthday too!”

“Oh, yeah! Happy birthday!” said Ron, who seemed to have forgotten. “Did you really get a party from the other players?”

Harry nodded, telling them all about the birthday pool dunking (making Fred and George cackle and look alarmingly inspired) and the team’s surprise party and presents. It seemed like a million years ago instead of only this morning.

“We’ve got presents back at the Burrow for you, Harry,” Mrs Weasley said, with a smile. “We weren’t sure if we’d get to see you. I baked a cake this morning just in case, but _someone_ ate it.”

She glared at Fred and George, who looked outraged. “Well, how were we supposed to know he’d show up? The match could’ve gone on for days!”

“It’s okay,” Harry laughed. “I got one this morning. Which reminds me.”

He pulled out a napkin from his pocket containing a now very squashed slice of cake and handed it to Ron.

“Elias’s schedule is so packed I might not get to arrange a meeting for a while,” he explained. “So I thought you’d like a bit of the cake he baked for me to make it up.”

Ron took it with wide eyes and unwrapped it so carefully it was as if it was a holy object. “ _Elias Parker_ baked this?”

“I hope you know that’s just going to lie mouldering in his room forever, Harry?” Bill asked, laughing. “He’s never going to eat it.”

“Yeah,” Charlie agreed. “Now just filch a pair of Sanderson’s knickers for him and he’ll be your slave for life.”

“Shut it, you two!”

Several loud bangs sounded outside as people continued celebrating. Harry glanced towards the flaps as he realised how long he had been here.

“I should get back,” he said. “The party will have started.”

“Can’t you sneak us in?” Fred and George begged. They turned to Kingsley. “Come on, you can arrange it, right?”

“Sorry,” he said. “You can’t get in without security bracelets, and those are like gold dust. Even the players’ families aren’t allowed in for security reasons.”

“You-Know-Who sucks the fun out of everything.”

Harry laughed at that gross understatement. He stood up and unfolded his Invisibility Cloak.

“Emmy will kill me if I miss it. She’s quite strict when it comes to things like that. And I need to get Nate and Dash back for throwing me in the pool.”

“Emmy?” George asked, shaking his head. “Nate? Dash? You’re really on familiar terms with them all now, eh? Getting all friendly with the rich and famous?”

“Yeah, can’t believe you know all these people now,” Ginny said, looking awed. “It’s so cool you’re friends with celebrities.”

“Harry’s a celebrity as well, technically,” Hermione said. “He always has been. And he’s much more famous. None of you get starstruck over him.”

“Not anymore anyway,” Fred said, winking at Ginny, who flushed. “It’s different with him. He’s just plain old Harry.”

“Thanks, Fred.”

“Well, have fun at the party,” Mr Weasley said, coming forwards to shake his hand again as Harry and Kingsley headed back to the entrance to the tent. “Don’t go too crazy.”

“There won’t be any drinking at this party, will there?” Mrs Weasley asked, suddenly stern.

“Uh …” Harry said, thinking of the immense boxes of Firewhisky he’d seen Nate and Aardash upacking as he’d left the Lodge. “I … I’m not sure.”

“Let him have some fun, Mum,” Bill said, sniggering. “It’s not every day you turn sixteen _and_ win an international Quidditch tournament!”

They waved goodbye to him, shouting more congratulations as Harry disappeared under the Cloak and began to be escorted back up to the Lodge by Kingsley.

His entire body was buzzing. It was amazing to see everyone else’s reactions, to know how much he’d managed to impress them. It set off a new strange kind of pride inside of him. This was how much he’d achieved. Ever since he’d first sat on that old school broom to get back Neville’s Remembrall, he had been building up to something like this. And it was all on his own merits. No one had dived in at the last moment to help him, there were no flukes, no luck involved.

It was all him.

What Lupin had said about his dad and Sirius remained with him. Having stayed dry eyed all day, even as the rest of the team wept with joy, he now found himself with tears streaming down his cheeks, and was glad Kingsley could not see.

He knew he had made them proud.


	20. The Taste of Firewhisky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this one! 😉

The party back at the Lodge was unlike any post-game celebration Harry had ever attended in Gryffindor Tower. For one, it was full of adults and the Firewhisky was in full flow, and two, there were no teachers who were going to come running and tell them all to keep it down. Therefore it was the craziest one yet.

The party was on the ground floor in a hitherto unused reception room in the England wing, with large patio doors which opened out into the garden. Emmy had decorated the full place with England banners and flags as well as several posters of the team, putting up balloons of red and white in every corner which flashed brightly and sang the national anthem when anyone passed by. Disco lights had been attached to the ceiling and flashed in various colours as well as periodically releasing bursts of streamers and confetti onto the space cleared in the centre of the room for a dancefloor. A record player was in the corner blasting out popular wizarding tunes while people jumped in the air to the beat. There was a table heaving with party food, a very busy bar area, and one corner where the floor had been Transfigured into a giant trampoline, which drunken witches and wizards were monopolising, with the occasional one running for a sick bowl.

The entire team was there, as well as all the various England team supporters, several of the Irish Ministry workers, some of the off-duty Aurors (as well as on-duty ones who lurked in the corners looking disgruntled at having to remain sober), a few journalists and important officials, Fowler (who looked wildly out of place) and even some house-elves who were looking as though they were having the time of their lives splitting their time between clearing up the mess and having a turn on the dancefloor. Even the Swedish team had shown up, though Karlsson herself was nowhere to be seen. They looked dejected and glum at first, but soon livened up when Aardash poured them all some drinks. Larsson, who was still looking a bit disoriented, sought Harry out, and at first he’d been terrified of being confronted for beating him or causing him such a serious crash. But all Larsson had done was shake his hand and admit that he’d been the better player. In fact, all the team seemed to be relatively friendly now that the match was over, and Harry was astonished to find out that Becca and the Swedish Chaser Annika Lindberg were actually close friends, though neither would have admitted to it in the run up to the game.

Harry was having a great time, even though partying had never really been his thing. It was such a jubilant atmosphere that you couldn’t help but get swept up in it all. The music was thumping, the people were celebrating, and everything seemed right with the world. He and Evan had already managed to sneak up on Aardash and Nate and grab hold long enough to force some Canary Creams into their mouths. The resulting howls of hilarity as both turned into canaries could probably have been heard back at the campsite.

Around midnight, Harry and Evan were sitting down on the edge of the dancefloor on some of the squashy inflatable chairs which had been conjured by Emmy. They were cackling with laughter as they watched the partygoers and dancers grow ever drunker.

“Look,” Harry pointed, directing Evan to Kane, the Irish Auror. He was eyeing Emmy with a look of drunken confidence, slicking back his hair and puffing out his chest.

“Oh, he’s going to get leathered,” Evan snickered, as Kane began swaggering towards her.

They leaned in eagerly as Kane tapped Emmy on the shoulder, whispering into her ear when she turned around. In a flash, Emmy had whipped out her wand and Transfigured him into a large pig, which then squealed in surprise and ran away, emerald robes trailing across the floor.

The two of them leaned back and laughed uproariously. Harry’s chair shifted, pushing him slightly closer towards Evan’s. Harry couldn’t help but stare at him in the low light of the party, seeing how the colours of the disco lights played off his fair hair. He was beginning to feel very warm.

Aardash arrived at that moment carrying two paper cups, swaying significantly on his feet before collapsing into another inflatable chair, which began to let out a very rude sound as it lost air. He was most definitely intoxicated and was laughing hysterically.

“You two saw that right?” he asked. “Good old Emmy!”

“Yeah, and when are you going to ask her out?” Harry asked, making his face flush.

“After witnessing that? I think I’ll stay clear!”

“She’s the one that kissed you before the match,” Evan said, entering the teasing. “Maybe now’s your chance!”

Aardash shook his head, but then stopped, frowning as he forced his inebriated brain to start thinking. “Nah,” he dismissed eventually, tone wistful. “She’s not into me. That was just a pre-match jitter.”

“She do that before all the matches?”

Aardash chewed his lip, glancing back at Emmy. A new softness came over his expression, one Harry had never seen on his face before.

He turned back to the two boys, pressing the cups he was carrying into their hands.

“Firewhisky, but don’t let the Aurors see,” he said, winking at them. “I’m off to do some wooing.”

Evan and Harry laughed as Aardash sprang back up like a very drunk cat and began walking towards Emmy on the dancefloor. Unlike with the Auror, she did not immediately pull out her wand. Instead, she turned around and listened to what he was saying, arms folded and one eyebrow raised. Aardash wiggled his eyebrows and shot her his most flirtatious grin, and she rolled her eyes and looked away, though a smile had appeared on her lips and a pink tinge crossed her cheeks. Aardash was not disheartened, and started dancing next to her, looking utterly ridiculous as his limbs flew everywhere completely out of sync with each other. Emmy just laughed, and continued dancing, ostensibly with Becca, but inching closer to him every second.

“How can someone who looks so good on a broom have so little coordination on the ground?” Harry asked, snorting as Aardash whacked Swedish Chaser Karl Ström in the face as he twisted and turned, wiggling his hips in time to the frenzied music.

“I dunno, but I definitely don’t think it’s putting Emmy off,” Evan noted, as they saw Emmy continuing to eye him.

“They’re so into each other,” Harry said. “I noticed that right away when I arrived. It’s obvious.”

“Yeah, definitely into each other. Obvious,” Evan said quietly, only he wasn’t looking at Aardash and Emmy.

Harry turned his head to look at Evan. The other boy’s eyes were sparkling in the flashing lights around them as he regarded Harry intensely. The warmth in the room increased seven-fold.

He looked away and lifted the cup of Firewhisky to his lips to try and ease his dry mouth and cool himself down, but instead the drink caused an intense burning sensation in his throat, making him cough and splutter. Evan laughed and slapped him on the back.

They took to watching the dancers again, Harry still drinking the Firewhisky, though now a little slower. At all times he was aware of just how close Evan was, how much his heart was starting to flutter. He sipped more and more, and something like courage seemed to be rising inside him. A new fire and determination to face the world.

After a while, Emmy spotted them sitting there and rushed over, grabbing both their hands to pull them to the dancefloor. Not being a dancer, Harry tried to resist, but Becca joined Emmy in dragging him up, and soon he, and the entirety of the team were all in the centre of the floor beneath the brightest of the lights dancing to the blaring music.

At first, he hated it, but was soon laughing at the expressions of everyone around him and the faces they were pulling, the sheer joy inside everyone’s chests leaking out to infect everyone else there with the same intoxication. Harry was squashed in between Elias and Nate, who were leaping up and down with their hands in the air. The seven players were all in one big crush, and Harry was no longer sure of who was pressing up on him on every side as the lights flashed erratically and the music seemed to swell. They were moving as one, but with far less grace than they had on the pitch, pushing and shoving, with not even an inch to spare between them, laughing the whole while.

Nate and Becca soon had their arms around each other, gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes, and Aardash and Emmy were now also pressed up against each other as they swayed together, Aardash’s arm coming down to circle her waist. The look on their faces was so intimate, so suggestive, Harry turned away, cheeks blazing.

And found himself face to face with Evan.

Harry’s breath seemed to leave him. _He was so close_. Evan’s lips quirked in a smile and he drew yet closer, sending Harry’s heart into somersaults. His chest was heaving up and down as he fought to get air. Evan’s hands brushed his hips, and Harry wanted more, to be even closer than this.

They weren’t dancing, not really; there wasn’t enough space to do so. But they stood together in the centre of that dancefloor, in the midst of at least a hundred people, and Harry could only see the one in front of him. Mesmerised by the colours of the lights as they danced across his face, Harry looked at Evan as he never had before, like he was a masterpiece hanging in an art gallery, admiring every inch. Despite the jostling of the crowd around them, they never broke eye contact.

The heat in the room was now too much.

“I need some air,” Harry stammered, backing out away from Evan, tearing his eyes away as he thought he was about to pass out from the spinning sensation in his head and the hammering in his chest. Stumbling almost blindly, he made for the patio doors and burst out into the gardens, closing them behind him, breathing in a sigh of relief as the cool night air washed over his skin.

His eyes took a second to adjust to the low light, but then Harry was off, not really noticing where he was going. He gulped huge mouthfuls of air. His entire body was shaking.

He came to a halt beneath the tree where he had first seen Evan and thought about what had just happened. _What the hell?_

But he didn’t have time to gather his thoughts together, because he heard footsteps behind him, and when he turned, he saw Evan coming up the path, his own face as flushed as Harry thought his own was.

He stopped inches in front of Harry, and they looked at each other for a long moment. Harry didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to put into words what feelings were now surging through his body, touching places he had never noticed before. How could he express how much he _ached_ for this boy? How much he _wanted_ him?

Evan’s eyes were roaming over his face, coming down to rest on his lips for a long moment, before rising back to his eyes. Those stunning blue eyes had locked on to his. There was a hunger in them that Harry had never seen before.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Evan said breathlessly, and then he was leaning in, and Harry was too.

Their lips brushed, and the shock of the contact almost had Harry pulling back. But it was too good a feeling, too exciting, too intense, so he leaned in further, closing his eyes and succumbing to Evan’s kiss. He was too happy to be cautious, too full of victory and the courage of the Firewhisky to overthink things, and soon he was kissing Evan back with feverish fervour. Evan’s lips were soft and felt so wonderful against his own that Harry knew no Quidditch victory could ever compare to this feeling. Evan’s hand went to the back of Harry’s head, tangling his fingers in his hair and Harry reached for him too, running his hands up Evan’s arms, his back, pulling him even closer, because no distance was close enough. The kiss deepened, and Evan’s hands were cupping his face, fingers stroking the skin and Harry was soon doing the same, running one hand through Evan’s curling hair. It _was_ as soft as he’d always thought. His head was spinning worse than it had on the dancefloor, but now he welcomed it, sank into its embrace, breathing no longer seemed important, the taste of the Firewhisky on Evan's lips ever more intoxicating.

Forget the Cup. _This_ was the best birthday present ever.

The doors to the gardens burst open and a loud shouting reached them from across the garden as a stream of drunken wizards started pouring outside, falling all over each other and hooting in glee. As if he had been drenched in cold water suddenly, Harry jerked back, breaking the contact between them.

Evan had pulled back too and they looked at each other, half-dazed. Harry’s mouth was hanging open, gasping for air. _What had he just done?_

Harry was blinking rapidly, mind filling with a blank panic. Evan was frowning.

The drunken voices were coming ever closer, and Harry had the overpowering urge to run away, to escape this overwhelming moment. _I need to go_.

Evan took a hesitant step towards him, but Harry walked past, half running down the path as he headed back towards the patio doors, barrelling past the revellers as he did so. He emerged back into the stifling party but swiftly crossed the dancefloor, dodging dancers and excitable house-elves. He saw Becca and Nate locked in an embrace at the side of the room, and as he found himself back in the lobby he also spied Aardash and Emmy snogging in a corner, a pig wearing emerald robes trotting past them disconsolately.

_All the team are pairing off—including me and Evan._

The thought was as terrifying as it was exciting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it finally happened! But it definitely isn't going to be completely smooth sailing for these two just yet.
> 
> Just so people know, now we're about halfway through, the story from this point on is going to be a lot less Quidditch based and focus more on Evan and Harry.


	21. The Next Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for your comments! Here begins the process of Harry coming to terms with a few unexpected realisations about himself. Expect some of the usual cluelessness which always accompanies Harry's love life!

Harry had barely slept a wink all night. After leaving Evan in the garden, he had raced up the stairs and went straight to bed, leaping under the covers and pulling them over his head as he tried desperately to make sense of what had just happened.

He had kissed Evan— _kissed_ him! And it had been nothing like the time he had kissed Cho. That had been hesitant and awkward, and only slightly pleasurable. It hadn’t sent his whole body aflame like that kiss had.

What did this mean then? Harry kept coming back to the same question. Did he … like _boys?_

He couldn’t deny he’d been experiencing growing feelings for Evan for some time now, powerful feelings which left him breathless. He was attracted to him, _really_ attracted to him. He could see that now, and it amazed him how blind he’d been to it till now. But how could this be? He’d fancied Cho for ages, getting similar thrills of excitement every time she had looked at him, or praised him in any way. Not as intense perhaps, but still there. Their one date may have been a disaster, but Harry knew he had definitely been attracted to her.

So how could he be into Evan now?

Harry ran over the entire evening again and again as he lay under the covers. He could see Evan’s face before him, eyes shining with desire, feeling his lips pressed against his … it had been so … so _wonderful._

What should he do now? He didn’t have a clue. He’d left things in such a stupid way. All he could think about when those drunks had come out into the garden was running away, and he knew it must have looked bad. Did Evan hate him now? Did he regret what had happened?

Did Harry? He had to admit he had been slightly tipsy, knocking back a full cup of straight Firewhisky on a pretty much empty stomach in no time at all. Had that been what made him kiss him? That and a combination of the heat, the music, flashing lights and hectic atmosphere. Is that what had made Evan do it?

As unsure as Harry was feeling about everything, he could at least answer one of those questions. No, he didn’t regret it. Not one bit. It had been too amazing to regret. He quickly came to realise how much he’d been longing for that moment. All the party and alcohol had done was nudge him into acting.

He groaned and curled up on his side. He suddenly wished Hermione was here to help explain things, as she had done when Cho had kissed him under the mistletoe. Immediately, his body went rigid and his eyes snapped open as he thought of Ron and Hermione. What would _they_ think of this? And the rest of the Weasleys? Cold dread seeped through him. _What have I gotten myself into?_

When Harry awoke after snatching perhaps an hour or two of sleep, his head aching, the first thing he did was twist around in bed to see if Evan was there. But, to his disappointment or relief, he wasn’t sure which, Evan was nowhere to be seen. Harry did not even know if he’d come back to the room at all.

Harry dressed slowly, glancing to the door every few minutes to see if Evan would come barging in. He packed his trunk quickly and then went to the window to look out over the gardens, hoping to see Evan sitting there meditating. But the gardens were empty of everyone but the garden jarvey. The space beneath the tree where they had kissed was empty.

Hearing that the rest of the Lodge now sounded as though they were awake, he decided to head into the dining room for breakfast. He peered out into the corridor before leaving, and when he reached the dining room door, he hesitated, suddenly filled with nerves almost as debilitating as the ones as he’d had before the match. _What if he’s_ _in there?_

Eventually, he summoned the courage to push open the door and see. Evan was not there, but everyone else was, looking like they were in various stages of hangovers. Elias appeared to be the one least affected, and smiled at Harry as he sat down, passing him some toast.

“You don’t look too bad,” he said, chuckling. “Benefits of being underage. Though I _did_ see you drinking something you shouldn’t have been at least once.”

Harry flinched. _What else had he seen?_

Elias didn’t appear to notice, and began buttering his own toast, roughly scraping the knife across the surface, making Nate wince at the loud sound.

“Where’s Evan?”

Harry jumped, and felt the heat rising to his face. “How should I know?”

Elias raised an eyebrow. “Because you share a room with him?”

“I – I, uh, didn’t hear him come in,” Harry mumbled. “He wasn’t there this morning.”

“Hmm,” Elias said. “My room was empty too last night, for the first time. Seems everyone’s been … sleeping elsewhere.”

The other four groaned and held their heads in their hands. Harry’s blush deepened.

Elias’s eyes narrowed at him. “Did you do something stupid last night?”

“What? No!” Harry protested, though his reaction was evidently exactly what Elias had been looking for, because he started laughing.

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. After my first win, I drank so much I passed out in a Muggle phone box wearing nothing but a tutu and a pink cowboy hat. I got arrested the next morning by a policeman and almost charged with ‘indecent exposure’. That’s why I have no more than one drink at every party!”

“And why you’re no fun either,” Nate said, looking up from his hands, eyes red rimmed, dreadlocks sticking up at all angles.

“If fun means looking like you, I’ll pass.”

Elias turned back to Harry, and looked concerned when Harry wasn’t laughing. “Seriously, mate, what happened last night?”

“Nothing!” Harry’s voice was entirely too loud, too high-pitched to fool anyone. Those that were hungover winced.

“All right,” Elias said, soothingly. “I won’t ask. You’re even touchier than those two!”

He gestured to Aardash and Emmy who were sitting at opposite ends of the table from each other, determinedly looking the other way, cheeks beginning to flush.

Harry tried to focus on his breakfast, but his stomach wasn’t settling right. It seemed like something heavy had attached itself to it. He nibbled some toast and took some tea, which helped to clear the slight headache somewhat.

The door opened and in came Fowler. He also appeared bad-tempered, but that was just his normal face. In fact, he was in a good mood. He threw down some newspapers on the table.

“Look at these!” he cried triumphantly, making most people grimace. “The whole world’s going insane over this. I’ve had a hail of owls this morning from every team in Europe looking to sign the lot of you. _We did it!”_

“Mhmm,” said Aardash, raising his head slightly, and blinking blearily. “We did. Now can I get some sleep?”

“Not a chance,” Fowler growled. “We’ve got the presentation at the Ministry today with Minister Scrimgeour, _and_ that lunch appointment with him and his subordinates. There’s a photo opportunity too.”

Emmy groaned, lifting her own head to show off eyes rimmed with smeared mascara, her hair hanging in wild tufts around her face. “Do I _look_ like I want my photo taken?”

“Khatri certainly didn’t seem to mind how you looked last night,” Fowler said, glaring at her, making Emmy and Aardash both cringe. “Get yourselves ready. We leave in an hour.”

He looked around, as if noticing for the first time who wasn’t there. “Where’s Turner?”

“Here.”

Harry jumped as Evan appeared from behind Fowler. He was wearing different clothes than last night; did that mean he’d gone back to the room last night then? Harry looked away as his heart started thumping. _What should I do? Look at him, ask him how he is? Should I pretend like nothing happened?_

“Good. I want this to go well today. We’ll be staying in some posh hotel the Ministry’s providing tonight and doing the signing at Flourish and Blott’s tomorrow. Then you can all go and drink and sleep as much as you like until the season begins.”

“Can we get our own rooms at this hotel?” Emmy asked hopefully.

“Really? I would’ve thought you and Aardash would be happy to share,” Elias said, winking. “You two, Becca and Nate, Harry and Evan … I can _finally_ get some peace.”

“Same room assignments as before,” Fowler barked as soon as Emmy opened her mouth to object. “Now, eat up. Portkey won’t wait, even if you are European Champions.”

He left, and Harry was left to sit in a semi-panic. _Same room assignments._ How could he possibly share a room with Evan now? He needed some time to think about this, but it sounded as if there wouldn’t be any time at all to find some time on their own. And did he even want to be alone with him again?

Evan revealed nothing of his own thoughts as he sat down and quietly took some toast. He did not look at Harry, but Harry kept stealing glances at him, trying to judge his mood. Unfortunately, Evan seemed to have reverted back to the same impassive boy of before.

“Where did you get to last night?” Elias asked him, amused.

Evan shrugged. “Gardens.”

When Evan was no more forthcoming, Elias sighed. “Another one determined to keep his secrets. What’s the point of being the sober one if I can’t get all the good details?”

The rest of breakfast passed in an uncomfortable silence, and Harry was soon back in his room, throwing the last things into his trunk and hauling it to the door for the house-elves to arrange to be transported to the hotel. Before he left the room, he took one last look around, as well as out the window to the gardens and the woods beyond them. _So much had happened here …_

This was where his entire world had been turned upside down.

Shaking this off, he headed downstairs to meet the rest of the team in the lobby, all of whom now looked slightly more presentable. Kingsley was also there, as well as three other Aurors. He smiled when he saw Harry.

“We’ll be escorting you all,” he told the team and Fowler. “Straight to the Ministry. Apparently, the Minister is very eager to see you.”

“Well, of course he is,” Fowler said as they began to follow the Aurors out the front entrance and down the path to the gate. “This is good news he can use to distract from all the other crappy stuff happening.”

Harry could see his point; this could easily be a fantastic propaganda opportunity for the new Minister for Magic. He suddenly felt a twinge of guilt as he remembered the war going on in the outside world. People were dying, and here he was freaking out over a _kiss_.

He glanced at Evan occasionally as they walked across the moor (the Auror’s station at the gate had been unmanned—Harry assumed that Kane was still wandering around as a pig), but Evan did not look at him. He walked looking at the ground, saying nothing to no one. And as the rest of the team were too hungover to talk, eyes squinting painfully in the direct sunlight, it wasn’t overtly noticeable.

They reached a Portkey point outside the main campsite, the few wizards and witches waiting there for their own Portkey reacting with excitement when they saw them, and they were obliged to stop and greet them and shake hands. Aardash’s hand was being shaken so forcefully Harry thought he might be sick.

An old Wellington boot was presented to them, and they were soon experiencing that horrible sensation of being pulled away from somewhere behind the navel. As they fell through the air, Harry was highly aware of Evan’s body thumping into his and was grateful when they finally landed in a deserted field and he could move away. He needed time to think, and he couldn’t do that around him. Not when all he wanted to do was seize him and start kissing him again.

Next to the field there was a road, with two sleek Ministry cars parked waiting for them. The team and the Aurors split themselves across both these cars, and Harry was relieved when Evan chose to share with Becca, Nate and Emmy, leaving Harry to enter the second car with Aardash, Elias and Fowler. Harry sat staring out the window as the countryside zoomed past taking them on their way to London, trying to sort through what it was that he wanted.

 _Evan_ , he thought. _He’s what I want._

But as what … his boyfriend? Harry almost blushed at the thought. He’d never considered himself as someone who had boyfriends. He’d barely even had a _girlfriend_. This was so entirely opposite to what he’d always thought about himself he didn’t know what to make of it.

His headache had returned, but Harry now knew it had nothing to do with the Firewhisky. He wasn’t … wasn’t _gay,_ was he? He’d always thought he’d been into girls … and he was! Cho hadn’t been the only girl to have caught his eye over the years, though the only one anything had happened with. Could his very identity have changed so rapidly? Had he ever really liked Cho? Why was Evan the only boy he’d ever been attracted to?

Then there was the thought of how the rest of the world would take this revelation. He and Evan were both now internationally famous, if word of this got out they’d be constantly in the limelight, names in every media publication always linked together, questions would be asked, they’d never have any privacy. And Harry didn’t even want to know how his school life would be affected. Just the _rumours_ of a love triangle between him, Hermione and Viktor Krum had caused weeks of misery. How much worse would it be now? Pairings at Hogwarts were almost exclusively opposite-sex, and Harry had heard many a cruel jaunt in the corridors directed at those few brave enough to go against the grain. Did he want to expose himself to that?

Kingsley was sitting opposite him in the car.

“Are you alright, Harry?” he asked, frowning. “You seem a bit distracted.”

“Apparently he did something stupid last night,” Elias said, sniggering. “But he won’t tell us what. And he wasn’t the only one. Evan won’t tell us what happened either.”

Harry willed him to remain quiet, but Kingsley’s frown deepened. He looked as if he was going to say something, but then glanced at the others in the car and changed his mind. He laughed shortly.

“I won’t tell Mrs Weasley if you won’t.”

Harry knew this was not what he had been going to say and forced himself to try and make his face noticeably less anxious. Soon, they were pulling up outside what seemed to be a perfectly ordinary pub and were being ushered into a back room, where there was a blazing fireplace and an Auror standing next to it with a tub of Floo Powder.

Harry took his handful after most of the others had already gone and stepped into the emerald flames, experiencing the sickening spinning sensation of Floo travel before stepping out into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

There was a large crowd of people gathered there, and they cheered and applauded as each player emerged from the flames. Harry was directed towards the others who were standing waiting to ascend a large wooden platform which had been hastily erected where the Fortune of Magical Brethren had stood only a few weeks ago. On that platform, standing beneath a gigantic England flag, Harry recognised Rufus Scrimgeour, new Minister for Magic. He looked more terrifying in person than his picture in the _Daily Prophet_ had, but he had a smile for the entirety of the England team as they climbed up onto the platform to rapturous applause from the assembled witches and wizards.

He shook hands with each of the players, giving Harry a particularly keen look, before presenting them all with a small statuette with their names engraved onto it. He turned to the assembled audience and began to give a speech.

Harry only listened for the first minute or two, hearing him say something about international magical unity and the virtues of hard work and optimism in the face of adversity before zoning out. The way Scrimgeour talked, you’d think they’d gone into literal battle against the Swedish, much like the members of the Order of the Phoenix had done against the Death Eaters in this very building only a few weeks ago.

The spot where Harry had faced off against Voldemort was very near, and he could not help but squirm uncomfortably and feel a tight twisting of his heart. He wanted to be out of here. And not only because he wanted a chance to try and talk to Evan.

Finally, Scrimgeour finished his speech, and Fowler gave another (thankfully, shorter) one of his own praising his team for all their hard work. He also had a grudging word or two to say about the original Keeper and Seeker who had gotten the team to the final, but moved on swiftly, still apparently not having forgiven them for getting poisoned.

After that, there was a long session of endless picture taking for the assembled reporters, the team posing with Scrimgeour, with Fowler, and then individually. Harry’s smile had never been more forced. The absolute euphoria of the previous day had worn off.

Then they faced an excruciatingly long lunch which lasted until at least four o’clock up in one of the Ministry’s reception rooms, apparently reserved only for the most special of occasions. While Harry may have found this luxurious meal enjoyable under normal circumstances, he just wanted to completely get away and have some time to himself. Scrimgeour watched him closely the entire meal.

“Great work yesterday, Potter,” he said, finally getting an opportunity to come and sit near him when Aardash went to the bathroom. “The entire nation is behind you.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, not liking how intensely Scrimgeour was looking at him; like he was some sort of valuable prize.

“We could use someone like you here at the Ministry, you know.”

“I’m still at school,” Harry pointed out. “I don’t have any plans to join the Ministry any time soon.”

“It doesn’t have to be an official role.”

“Minister!”

Harry was mercifully interrupted from trying to answer by Kingsley Shacklebolt, who swooped in and distracted him with tales of some new security issue with the Muggle Prime Minister. An hour later, when they were finally in the lifts and being escorted out the building, Kingsley leaned in to whisper to him.

“Scrimgeour’s desperate to get his hands on you, Harry. Avoid him if you can.”

Harry nodded, already having worked that out for himself. The lift grilles opened and Harry was met with the unexpected sight of Percy Weasley, who jumped when he saw them all, reddening slightly.

“Harry!” he cried. “So—so good to see you! Well done yesterday, that was very—”

“Save it, Percy,” Harry snapped, not in the mood. “Just last year you were writing to Ron calling me a dangerous criminal madman and telling him to stay away from me. Nothing’s changed.”

Percy’s flush spread, and he quailed slightly under the new unfriendly looks he was receiving from the rest of the team.

“Ah, yes, well … I’m …uh … very regrettable now … in light of ….”

Percy hung his head and rushed off in the opposite direction as the team left the lift. Aardash chuckled and threw an arm around Harry’s shoulder.

“ _I_ always believed you.”

Harry said nothing more as they were all driven to a fancy looking hotel in the centre of London. It appeared like any normal Muggle hotel, except instead of going towards the central lifts in the main lobby, they turned to head towards a different set in the far wall, which, judging by the oblivious Muggles queuing up at the central ones, were either entirely hidden from or simply made unremarkable to those without magic.

Kingsley pressed a button and the lift doors opened and they piled in, Harry being unpleasantly squashed up against Evan. When the doors opened, they were in an entirely different lobby, this one evidently magical, for there were house-elves wandering around carrying towels and pushing laundry trolleys.

A smiling witch behind a desk chattered effusively as they checked in, a _Daily Prophet_ lying open in front of her, complete with pages upon pages of articles and photographs of the match. The one of them all standing hand-in-hand in the Top Box caught Harry’s eye. His picture self was positively beaming as he stood holding Evan’s hand, and Evan was doing likewise.

The real life Evan also looked at it, his face as unreadable and unfriendly as it had been that first day they’d met.

The witch handed over some keys, and Kingsley took them, showing them down a lushly carpeted corridor.

“Ms Sanderson and Ms Haynes in here,” he said, passing the first key to the two witches, and they immediately entered, probably to curl up and sleep. “Mr Fowler in here. Mr Khatri, Mr Parker and Mr Watson in here. And finally … Mr Turner and Mr Potter in here.”

Guts clenching uncomfortably, Harry watched as Evan took the key and entered. As he made to follow him, and begin the inevitable awkward conversation, Kingsley stopped him and drew him to the side.

“Harry, seriously, what’s wrong?” he asked, leaning in closer. “Yesterday you couldn’t stop grinning and today it’s like you’re at a funeral.”

“It’s nothing,” Harry said, aware that Evan was just on the other side of the door and potentially listening in. “Just drank too much of the Firewhisky last night. Don’t think it agrees with me.”

But Kingsley did not believe him. “This is no hangover, Harry.” He glanced at the door to the room. “Something happened last night. If it’s upsetting you, I’d like to help.”

Harry considered telling him for one wild moment, before rejecting the idea entirely. He barely even knew Kingsley really. This was too personal, too confusing at the moment.

“I’m not upset, honest,” he said, not entirely sure if he was lying. “I just need some sleep.”

Kingsley looked at him for such a long moment, Harry thought he’d never allow him to go. But eventually, he nodded.

Harry stepped past him quickly and headed inside before he could stop him. The room beyond was probably very luxurious and comfortable, but Harry only had eyes for the boy inside it. Evan was standing next to one of the two beds, unpacking a large suitcase mechanically. He did not look up as Harry entered.

Trying to buy some time and think about what he wanted to say before he had to break the silence, Harry went to the other bed, seeing his trunk had already arrived, and also began to open it. They were only staying two nights and didn’t really need to unpack, but it was something to with his hands while his brain went into overdrive. What should he say? How should he start?

He’d spent all day wishing to be alone with Evan to talk this out, to try and fix this thing between them … whatever _this_ was. But now he was here, he suddenly wished he was back in Ireland, far away from this maddening boy and his own overwhelming feelings. What was he supposed to do—turn around and ask him out? How would this even work? The Championship was over; they’d soon be heading off to different parts of the country. Did he even _want_ a boyfriend?

As he lifted one thing out his trunk, he saw the bracelet made of grass which Evan had woven for him in the clearing, that time when he had been so open and honest with him about his past. The bright green grass was now starting to fade to yellow.

Everything suddenly started to seem like too much, and the rising panic in his chest threatened to cut off his oxygen supply. He couldn’t deal with this; not right now. Not while he was stuck in the same room as him, not while the world was so uncertain, not while Voldemort was out there spreading terror and there was a prophecy hanging over Harry’s head. It was too much all at once.

“Harry?”

Harry’s heart spasmed as he heard Evan’s voice. He was the one reaching out to him, knowing that Harry was feeling overwhelmed, just as he had known last time as well. But Harry was frozen, and he could not turn around. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to resist, and he was too scared to take that leap just yet. He needed time.

The seconds stretched on, and still Harry did not reply. He opened his mouth several times and found the words would not come. _Give me some time ... Let me have some space … I like you, but I need to think …_ None of it sounded right.

He waited too long to give a reply. Evan seemed to give up on him, and the next moment, had walked towards the adjoining bathroom and locked the door. The sound of the shower was heard a second later.

Harry sank down onto his mattress, holding the grass bracelet in his hand, misery threatening to spill from him.

_What was he supposed to do?_


	22. Flourish and Blotts

By the next morning, the hangovers had been cured, and the team was much more cheerful and were as lively as they usually were. All except Harry, at least.

From the moment he’d woken up and started avoiding looking at Evan, he’d been in a gloomy mood. His dreams had been filled with glorious images of Evan, but ended with Harry running away, and Evan’s confused face looking after him. Harry knew the longer he avoided this confrontation with Evan, the worse it would be, but something inexplicably strong held him back. It was fear, but fear unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his life, and nothing like the kind he was usually able to overcome when others were in danger. Being brave for his own sake was much harder.

After a noisy breakfast, where the team chattered happily about the match and began to discuss their plans for the rest of the summer, they were taken to Flourish and Blott’s in Diagon Alley for what promised to be a full day’s autograph signing. They were sat down along a long table draped in a tablecloth peppered with miniature waving England flags and were made to wait as the crowd grew outside, many excited faces now pressing up excitedly against the windows to peer in.

Harry looked down at the pile of photographs of his own face which were sitting in front of him. It was bizarre to think that only four years ago he’d been here at a signing for Gilderoy Lockhart, and now it was his turn. He’d always resisted giving autographs on the basis of his fame as the Boy Who Lived; after all, who’d relish being famous for surviving the brutal massacre of your family? But now, people were coming to get his autograph for one thing he’d achieved himself that he was actually proud of. If it wasn’t for his misery about Evan, he’d be quite excited.

Evan was right by his left side, and it was making it very hard to concentrate. They were all squashed together, and Harry knew when the doors were opened it would be even more claustrophobic in the small bookshop. Every time he adjusted his position on his uncomfortable chair, their knees knocked together, or their elbows jutted up against each other. Each contact sent Harry’s heart aflutter, and he was surprised no one else seemed to notice just how loud it was beating.

At ten o’clock, the saleswizards in the shop opened the doors and a huge mass of people came surging forwards as one, screaming and some even weeping, as those at the front practically ran the last few feet; they it seemed, had been waiting outside since the previous evening.

Harry soon had little time to think of Evan as he signed his name on dozens of photographs, shaking countless hands and offering hundreds of polite smiles. He was congratulated again and again for his excellent flying and his Wronksi Feint in particular (even the wizards who had not been at the match and had listened on the radio sounded impressed), with everyone all eager to praise him as enthusiastically as if he’d just cured cancer or something. More than a few asked a couple tentative questions about the Ministry, but Harry swiftly side-stepped those, as well as any references to the ‘Chosen One’, but the crowd did not seem disappointed.

It was almost enjoyable to be praised so much, especially for something he had enjoyed doing so intensely, but as the second hour wore on, the novelty had long since worn off. The crowd did not let up, and there seemed no end to the witches and wizards who were piling into the shop and queueing up to move along the table and receive their signed photos. If the manager of the shop had hoped that the draw of the England Quidditch team would encourage sales of the Quidditch books he had hopefully put on display in prominent positions around the room, he was sorely mistaken. No one had eyes for anything except the team. The Aurors had to continually remind people to keep moving on and stop halting to chat with their favourite players, and one witch had to be carried from the shop after she had thrown herself hysterically at Aardash and begged him to marry her. Aardash, who Harry thought would normally have loved something like this, kept glancing at Emmy after this incident, though she gave no sign she cared. She was fending off several advances of her own, and continually refused to sign her name across the chests of several infatuated wizards, even slapping one when he asked her to sign another part of his anatomy, which Harry did not catch, but could easily guess at.

There were a few people that Harry recognised. Daedalus Diggle showed up and excitedly wrung Harry’s hand and dropped his hat several times as he signed his photograph, though as Harry had seen him very regularly last year at Grimmauld Place, he did not understand him being starstruck at all. Harry soon also recognised several people from Hogwarts, some he knew by name and others he did not, and got an idea for the first time what life back at school was going to be like for him now as they blushed and babbled incoherently in front of the players. A couple spoke with Harry very familiarly, though Harry couldn’t say he’d ever spoken to them much at school, if at all, prompting many jealous glances from the fans around them.

It wasn’t until the third hour began that Harry finally recognised a friend.

“Hiya, Harry!” Dean Thomas beamed, almost bouncing forwards. He was still wearing a Potter rosette. “You were so good, mate! I’ve seen you fly at school but that was something else! How is it that we both started flying lessons on the same day but you ended up as great as that and I can still barely fly in a straight line?”

Harry laughed, his mood started to lighten a little. “No idea. Just lucky, I guess.”

“That was no luck!” Dean said, grinning. “Never knew you were as incredible as that. That House Cup’s got our name on it this year.”

“Hope so!” Harry said, grinning back.

He was surprised a minute later when Dean put a photo down in front of him and stared back up at him incredulously. “You want an autograph? Dean, we’ve slept in the same dormitory for the last five years! And we’ll doing it again in a month’s time!”

“Yeah, but I want the full set!” Dean laughed, as Harry shook his head with a small sigh of disbelief and signed it. “Seamus couldn’t make it and he’ll be so jealous. You should have seen him at the match. Never knew he could scream so loud. He actually punched the guy in front of us when you got hit by that Bludger.”

“Why, was he a Swedish fan?”

“No, just conveniently close,” Dean said, shrugging. He looked around as some people started muttering disgruntledly at how long he was taking. “This is insane, Harry. I know you’ve always hated being famous, but you’ve got to be enjoying this a little bit, right?”

“Yeah, a little bit,” Harry agreed, having to be entirely honest. Next to him, Evan was staring up at Dean, face unreadable.

“That dragon thing was so cool, was it really your idea?”

“Ehh, let’s get one thing straight,” Aardash leaned in to interrupt, making Dean’s eyes light up. “Harry came up with the smoke idea. _I_ came up with the dragon.”

Dean soon moved on, and the rest of the team, who had noticed he was one of Harry’s friends, took the time to talk to him a little more than they did with most of the fans, and by the time he left with a huge stack of autographs, Dean was practically skipping.

As the middle of the day went on, and Diagon Alley was thronged with shoppers, the shop became even more crowded and almost unbearably hot. Harry saw several more people from school, including many from the DA such as Neville (who blushed profusely upon seeing the team), but the Aurors were moving people on so quickly to usher them out of the shop again, he never got to exchange more than a word or two with any of them.

As the crush against the table became yet worse, and Aurors began to actually have to force people back, Harry was aware that beside him, Evan had gone entirely rigid. He glanced at him, and saw that Evan was unusually pale, and his wide eyes were rapidly darting around the room, looking at the walls, the ceiling, the heaving mass of people. His jaw was tightly clenched and he was breathing heavily though his nose. Harry suddenly remembered how Evan had told him about his childhood accident, when he had been left buried for hours under a huge pile of rubble and had spent years recovering from the trauma.

He looked so panicked, so desperately trying to fight back his fears and regain control, that all Harry’s awkwardness and worries now seemed stupidly childish. He knew he had to help him somehow. He cared too much to allow his embarrassment to stop him.

Evan’s legs were trembling next to Harry’s, and, as Evan had once done for him, Harry reached beneath the table with his left hand to place it on Evan’s knee.

Evan jumped, and his head snapped around to stare at him, swallowing heavily.

“It’s alright,” Harry said under his breath, keeping his eyes on his. “Just breathe. You’re okay.”

Evan was still looking terrified, but Harry kept his hand where it was, softly rubbing it up and down, in what he hoped was in a comforting fashion, and slowly, the leg stopped trembling so much. Eventually, the jaw unclenched, and Evan began breathing properly again, though his eyes were still frantic. His own hand moved convulsively to land on top of Harry’s, and Harry instinctively took hold of it, squeezing it tightly. It was cold and clammy, but he did not let go, stroking his thumb gently against the skin, trying to soothe him, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. It seemed to be helping however, and as Evan’s hold on his hand grew tighter, the rest of his body seemed to loosen until he was as he had been before, panting only slightly. He closed his eyes a couple of times, breathing deeply, probably employing some meditation technique Harry had not yet managed to master, and a calm came over his face.

After a few moments, during which time the Aurors had managed to restore some order to the chaos in the shop, Evan had managed to regain his composure and was soon able to resume the signing. His hand however, stayed firmly encased in Harry’s.

Harry resumed his own autograph signing, his head far more muddled than before. It was fortunate perhaps that Evan was left-handed, for neither of them released their hold on each other, continuing holding hands under the table for several minutes, though Evan was no longer clinging on with such a vicelike grasp. It was almost … pleasant, Harry thought. Though he was anxious every moment the tablecloth could suddenly twitch or be ripped away and expose them, he found he greatly enjoyed sitting with Evan’s hand in his own.

The signing session began wrapping up after several hours in which Harry’s right hand had started to cramp badly from holding his quill for so long. The last few people were just starting to trickle in, and Harry was looking forward to finally getting away and perhaps finally getting up the courage to talk to Evan.

“Hi, Harry.”

The shock of that voice caused him to release Evan’s hand abruptly. Cho Chang was standing there, smiling warmly, a slight blush on her cheeks.

“Cho!” he stammered, clearing his throat. “I—I didn’t see you there.”

“We’ve been waiting forever,” she said, still blushing and looking deeply embarrassed; this after all, was the first time they’d spoken since breaking up. “But I just had to come. I was at the match. You flew amazingly, Harry.”

A year ago, a statement like that would have sent Harry into a melting puddle of happiness, but now, with Evan sitting next to him, he only felt awkward.

“Thanks,” he said, beginning to blush himself. His hand shook slightly as he signed the photo she put down. Beside him, Evan had twitched, and turned his head to Cho, watching the two of them curiously.

“I just hope you don’t try and pull that Wronski Feint on me the next time you’re playing Ravenclaw,” she said, smile widening. “I won’t fall for it so easily.”

Harry tried to laugh. “Yeah, well … I don’t think I’ll ever be able to use it again. Krum can’t, so that’s why he taught me.”

“Well, it was brilliant. Can’t wait to see you play again back at school.”

“Uh, yeah, bye.”

She moved on to the rest of the players, and Harry tried to regain his composure. On his right side, Aardash was chuckling.

“That your girlfriend, Harry? No wonder you’re blushing! She’s cute.”

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, highly aware of Evan on his other side. His face was again entirely blank.

After the signing, the team posed for some photographs with the shop staff and with a few other of the store owners of Diagon Alley who had come out for a better look and as the team got a good view of the new Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes shop, Aardash and Nate made Harry swear to put him in contact with the owners for an endorsement deal as quickly as possible.

They all headed back to the hotel and indulged in a fancy meal, and for the first time, the team began to feel a little bit saddened as they realised this was probably the last time they would all eat together. The following morning all of them would be heading off to their homes to have a short break before beginning training back with their own teams. It was the end of an era, and Aardash regaled them all with a few short and silly speeches which made them all laugh and cause Emmy to throw a bread roll at him. Before dinner was over, Harry had exchanged contact details with everyone and entered into several promises to write often and to meet up again during holidays, with a couple even saying they might try and get some time off to come and see him in a match at school. There was even tentative talk at the table of reuniting for England’s bid for the World Cup in two years’ time, but Fowler refused to discuss it, stating that it was bad luck to form a team this early; as well as they’d done in this competition, they knew Fowler wouldn’t hesitate to replace any of them without a second thought if a better player caught his attention.

By the time Harry was finally able to get to his room, he was almost jumping with nerves. He needed to speak to Evan. He was desperate to finally try and end this awkwardness. Holding Evan’s hand under the table when Evan had needed him had stirred something powerful within him. Fears and worries about the future were seeming further and further away. Seeing Cho again had only made him more certain. No matter how much he had dreamed and fantasised about her, how much he’d grinned dopily and walked on air whenever she was near or had paid him a compliment, she had _never_ stirred such feelings in him. What he’d felt for her wasn’t the same. That had been a crush, a pretty bad one granted, but this was something else. Whether he was gay or not, he wasn’t sure, but sitting there at that table, Cho in front and Evan at his side, he had known right away who he had preferred kissing, and which one he had any desire to kiss again.

As they walked into the room, however, Evan was not looking at him. He moved stiffly, and his face was twitching as though he was trying to hold something inside, and Harry worried whether he was still feeling the effects of his panicked moment in the shop. He turned away to give him a minute, trying to think of the right thing to say himself. He was surprised, after a moment, by Evan speaking to him, his voice oddly cold.

“I thought you said you and that girl weren’t together anymore. It was over.”

Harry turned around at the unusually sharp tone. Evan was staring at him, face tight.

“It is,” he said, swallowing. “Ages ago.”

“Then why did you blush when you saw her?”

“My ex showed up asking for an autograph, I was embarrassed!” Harry said, suddenly growing annoyed. “It was awkward.”

“Embarrassed?” Evan’s voice was highly sceptical. “Awkward? What was awkward about it?”

“You were sitting next to me!” Harry said, heart beginning to twist painfully. He saw Evan flinch, and immediately felt worse. This was going badly already. He’d always been so clueless with things like this.

The air was rapidly growing more and more tense.

“Look,” Harry said, trying to make himself a bit clearer, “Cho and I—we didn’t work. We went on one date and it was a complete disaster. I mean, the worst date you can imagine. She kept talking about her ex, Cedric, and since … since I—you know, saw him be murdered and all … it was horrible. We ended things pretty weirdly, and I guess I’m not really sure now what we are to each other, okay? We’re kind of friends, but it’s still awkward. But I don’t fancy her anymore. I don’t. We would never have lasted anyway—we never really … I mean … we didn’t really fit together. Not like—”

Harry stopped himself suddenly as the heat from his cheeks rose rapidly. He needed to get out of here. He needed a moment to calm down, figure out how to express himself in words which didn’t make him want to kick himself straight after they came out of his mouth. The bathroom door was open, and Harry started to walk towards it as Evan had done the previous night. Maybe gathering his thoughts for a moment without Evan looking at him like an injured puppy might help him stop putting his foot in things for a change.

But as he began to cross the room, Evan put out a hand to stop him, pulling him back by the wrist until they were face-to-face. Harry’s heart started hammering as he saw the intense look in Evan’s eyes.

“Not like we do, you mean,” he said. His hand tightened around Harry’s wrist. Harry was almost breathless. He nodded. He could barely force his brain to think.

Evan took half a step closer until they were so close Harry could feel the heat radiating off his body. Evan’s eyes bore into his own.

“Why did you hold my hand, Harry?” he asked, voice little more than a whisper.

“Because I thought you needed me,” Harry answered, the words leaping to his lips without him being aware of it. Evan was _so close._ Throwing caution to the wind, he went on, “And because I wanted to.”

There was barely another second of the two of them looking at each other before Evan had grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him forwards, their lips colliding forcefully, and Harry’s mind went blank of all else except him.

He kissed back just as fiercely, and their kiss grew more passionate even than the one in the gardens had been as they ran their hands all over each other, each seeking to explore every part they could reach. Harry couldn’t believe just how _good_ this felt, how _right_ Evan’s lips felt moving hungrily against his. He did not resist as Evan pushed him backwards and his back came up against a wall. Evan pressed up against him, and Harry simply melted into him. He was dizzy for lack of oxygen, but he did not stop, wrapping his arms around Evan as though he were drowning and Evan was here to save him.

Harry groaned as he felt his body responding to Evan’s kisses and touches, and knew Evan’s was too, and that thought excited him. He was very aware of how private things were now; no mindless drunks would be interrupting them this time.

The next thing he knew, Evan was tugging at his shirt, and instead of feeling nervous, he felt a new thrill of pleasure trickling through him, and allowed Evan to pull it over his head, ceasing their kissing for only the briefest of seconds before resuming. Evan’s hands were now all over his arms, his chest, and Harry was shuddering with how just good that felt. He wanted to feel Evan’s skin against his, and slid his own hands up inside Evan’s shirt, feeling the hard muscle of his stomach and chest. Evan smiled into the kiss and helped Harry remove his own shirt, capturing Harry’s mouth under his own again as soon as it was off, and soon their bare chests were pressed against each other, warm skin against warm skin.

Harry thought it couldn’t get any better than this, but then Evan was pulling him back towards the bed and they fell back onto it, Harry on his back and Evan above. Evan was relentless as he continued kissing Harry, strong arms propping himself up on either side of him as Harry grabbed at his back, pulling him down closer.

He gasped as Evan finally removed his lips from his and began nuzzling at his neck. Encouraged, Evan began trailing kisses across his chest and stomach in a way that soon had Harry completely helpless and unable to do anything more than close his eyes and clutch at the bedsheets beneath him as he fought to breathe against the rapid drumming of his heart.

Evan came back up to kiss him, and Harry had his hands on the back of his head tangling his fingers in his hair to pull his face down. Their bodies moved together, and the moans in Evan’s throat spurred Harry on, opening his mouth a little so that their tongues met. This was such a dizzyingly exciting and new experience that Harry never wanted to stop.

But then, Evan’s hands had descended lower, approaching the buckle of his belt, and something screamed at Harry to pull away and panic took over. His body froze and he took his lips from Evan’s abruptly, turning his head to the side, panting heavily.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, screwing up his face, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. “I—I just … I don’t … I’m not …”

“It’s okay,” Evan said breathlessly after a moment. “I’m … I’m nervous too.”

Harry still couldn’t look at him, body filling with shame. Why had he had to go wreck something so perfect?

“Sorry,” he said again, not feeling like it was enough. What was wrong with him? He _wanted_ this. Why was he so reluctant to move further? He couldn’t bear the thought that he had disappointed Evan somehow, that he had ruined things for them. He needed to explain; let him know he wasn’t rejecting him, that it was his own stupid fault for being such a mess.

“I—I just … I’m not sure I’m … ready for …”

“Hey,” Evan said softly, turning Harry’s head back to face him with one hand, allowing Harry to see the gentleness in his eyes. Evan smiled, and Harry’s heart was lifted. “It’s really okay. I’m not really sure what I’m doing either to be honest.”

Harry laughed shakily. “You could have fooled me.”

Evan offered him another glorious smile, and he leaned down to kiss him, more gently than before. Harry smiled under his lips.

“Can we … can we just ...?”

Evan nodded, and shifted so that he was beside Harry, half turned towards them, pulling down the pillows and blankets so they could lie there comfortably together. Harry was just content to lie looking at him, excited to see how feverish he appeared, how his lips appeared swollen and his eyes sparkled more than ever. _I caused that_.

Evan was propped up on one elbow, and he was looking down at Harry, drinking in the details of his face, his body. His free hand came up to trace up and down Harry’s skin, making him shiver with pleasure as Evan’s soft fingers trailed across his muscles, up and down his arm, across his collarbone, the base of his throat, down to his ribs.

“Are you still sore?” Evan asked, tracing the protruding outlines gently, eyes hooded. There was a small crease on his brow.

Harry shook his head. “I’m fine. Ribs are healed, even the tenderness has gone.”

“Good.” Evan drew a breath. “I was so scared when I saw you get hit.”

Despite not wanting to worry Evan, Harry couldn’t help but be pleased by his concern. “It’s Quidditch,” he said, reaching up to touch Evan’s hand with the tips of his fingers. “Injuries happen.”

Evan nodded. “Still, it makes it harder to focus when you get yourself into dangerous situations like that and your stupidly reckless dives.”

“You want to talk about focus,” Harry asked, still caressing the back of Evan’s hand. “You know why I almost missed the Snitch that first time? I was too busy looking at you.”

“Don’t let Fowler hear you saying that,” Evan said. “You shouldn’t have risked the match like that.” His voice sounded stern, but he was grinning.

Harry couldn’t believe how much he just enjoyed looking at that smile. It sent waves of something shooting around his body so fast he felt dizzy.

Evan’s fingers trailed up to his face, and with a mischievous smile, he removed Harry’s glasses in a flash and dropped them on the bedside table.

“Hey!”

“I want to see your eyes properly,” Evan said, and even through the blurriness, Harry could see he was leaning in closely, two blue blurs bright in his limited vision. “They’re beautiful.”

Harry blushed profusely. His eyes had been commented on several times before, usually in reference to his mother. But never like this.

“I can’t see,” he said, laughing.

“Then feel your way.”

Harry took him to his word. He pushed back on Evan’s chest slightly so he was flat on his back and Harry was the one leaning over. He couldn’t see more than a basic shape, but he leaned down and managed to find his lips anyway as Evan had reached up to help him enthusiastically, and Harry’s hand was soon exploring all over Evan’s upper body, slower than the frantic pace of before, but more thoroughly, as they kissed slowly and deeply.

Harry ended the kiss, peppering a few more across his neck before coming to rest his head on Evan’s chest. It was better than he could ever have thought, to lie there with his head gently rising and falling as Evan breathed. He ran his hand across Evan’s stomach, tracing the shape of his muscles, fingers moving in slow gentle circles.

“This is nice,” Evan sighed, evidently thinking along the same lines as Harry. His hands were running through Harry’s hair.

Harry smiled against his chest. “I can hear your heart,” he murmured. “It’s beating really fast.”

“I think you’ve got something to do with that.”

Harry didn’t think he’d ever tire of this. He lifted his head and placed it on the pillow beside Evan’s. Evan turned to look at him, cupping his face in one hand and stroking his cheek. Harry, though he couldn’t see his face clearly, knew he was smiling.

The two of them lay there in a perfectly contended haze, entirely unaware of the rest of the world. Harry didn’t want to leave. Yet, he knew that tomorrow, someone (Kingsley, he assumed) would be taking him away somewhere, probably to the Burrow. What then would become of this? Could this perfect moment, this perfect thing between them survive in the world outside? Would it, like the grass bracelet, wither and die?

“Evan,” Harry said hesitantly, not sure what to say, or how to express this. He was suddenly incredibly nervous and awkward. “I … I’ve never done anything like this before. This is all new. I don’t really … I don’t really know what’ll happen after tomorrow …”

Evan was silent for a long time, and Harry wished he had his glasses back to see what expression was on his face.

“Same, Harry, same,” he said, and pulled him closer. Harry let himself succumb to the embrace, trying with all his might not to think of the fact that tomorrow they would part, possibly never to see each other again.

He had no idea where to go from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! Was kinda nervous about this one.


	23. Early Morning Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's read and commented! 
> 
> Glad everyone's loving the fluffy stuff .... BUT ... things are about to change. Definitely getting to the 'Angst' part of the 'Fluff and Angst' tag now. Be warned: Sad Harry is on the way, and he makes some less than smart decisions in the next few chapters ...
> 
> Also, from now on as we approach Harry's sixth year, there are moments when the story will overlap with canon. I'm going to just skip over most of those instances with a brief mention unless there's something radically different about it (you all know the story after all). Just assume it happened more or less the way it happened in the book.

Harry first became aware of the world outside the room early the next morning when there was a sharp knock against the door. He jerked awake and was almost surprised to find his head so close to Evan’s. He barely had a moment to gaze at him and relive all the wondrous things they had done the previous night before the door was knocked again.

“Just a minute!” Harry called, springing away from Evan in a panic and feeling around for his glasses before leaping out of bed and searching for his shirt, which had been thrown away somewhere. Evan too was struggling to get up, pulling on his own shirt, though with less frenetic energy than Harry was. The room was still very dark; it had to be very early in the morning.

Shirt back on, Harry slapped on the light (not even stopping to wonder how a wizarding hotel managed to have something which resembled an electric light) and rushed to the door. When he pulled it open, his jaw dropped.

“Professor Dumbledore!”

And indeed it was, standing there as though this was a perfectly ordinary occurrence, dressed in robes of splendid purple. He also, Harry noticed unpleasantly, had injured one of his hands, for it looked black and incredibly painful.

“Good morning, Harry,” he said pleasantly. “Allow me to express my sincerest congratulations for your recent victory. I was not there, but Professor McGonagall has since regaled me of all the finer details. Quite fanatically, I might add.”

“Er, thanks,” Harry said, still stunned.

Professor Dumbledore smiled. “Forgive me for appearing so early in the morning and without notice, but I have a matter of business I must attend to, and would like your assistance with it, if you are willing. Then I will drop you at the Burrow, where I am sure everyone is eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

“Okay, I … uh,” Harry said, a little bewildered. “I just need—need to pack.”

“Allow me,” he said. “May I?”

Harry nodded, standing back and letting him in since he seemed determined anyway. Professor Dumbledore stopped and nodded at Evan, who was sitting on his bed and staring at the old wizard.

“Mr Turner, I presume? I heard you also played extremely well. Congratulations to you are in order as well.”

Evan thanked him, but he was frowning in confusion. He glanced at Harry as if for an explanation. Harry could easily see why this appeared so strange; what other Hogwarts student had the Headmaster showing up on their doorstep during school holidays to ask a favour and perform a taxi service?

Professor Dumbledore cast a quick eye around the room, and Harry immediately cringed when he realised that his own bed was perfectly made up, and looked very obviously unslept in. If Professor Dumbledore noticed this, or wondered why both boys were fully dressed this early in the morning when it was clear they had just woken up, he said nothing. He waved his wand once, and all Harry’s possessions soared into his trunk, which then locked with a click. Another wave and the trunk had vanished, probably off to the Burrow.

He then turned back to Harry. “Well, we had better be off then. I would like to see if you can help me convince an old friend back from retirement. We are, alas, once again short one member of staff. I think you might be the person to persuade him, especially given recent events.”

Dumbledore’s beard twitched slightly as he looked Harry up and down. “I am certain you would like to make a good impression on the man who will potentially become your new teacher. Forgive me, therefore, for pointing out that your shirt is on inside out.”

Harry blushed furiously, but Dumbledore appeared entirely unaffected. He moved towards the door.

“I shall give you a moment to correct it and say goodbye to Mr Turner. I will wait for you at reception.”

He swept out of the room, leaving Harry standing in the centre of the room, no idea what to do next.

Trying to buy some time, he ripped off his shirt and put it back on again the right way, furious with himself for not noticing, wondering in a panic what on earth Dumbledore had made of it. Two boys, apparently having slept in the same bed, fully dressed before dawn but with both (for Harry had just noticed Evan’s shirt) with their clothes on inside out.

Evan had stood up and come towards him. He looked hesitant, as though worried what Harry would say to him. Since Harry had absolutely no idea what he was going to say, there was no need to worry.

They stared at each other, and a dull ache started in Harry’s chest. Was this it? Would they never have anything again?

Evan stepped forwards and brushed a gentle kiss against his lips, so softly they were barely touching.

“I’ll see you, Harry.”

Harry nodded, still not moving. He didn’t want to leave it like this. Didn’t want to leave with such a flimsy promise of meeting again. But Dumbledore was waiting, and he couldn’t come up with anything better.

He started walking towards the door, but stopped and turned back to Evan, taking his face in his hands and planting another kiss on his lips, pressing firmly, but gently, drawing back a second later.

Without another word he turned and left the room to walk after Dumbledore.

If that was going to be their last time together, at least the last kiss was a proper one.

* * *

When Harry arrived at the Burrow several hours later, after a very bizarre time in the company of Horace Slughorn, most of the family was awake, and he was to receive somewhat of a hero’s welcome.

The kitchen had been decorated in the England colours and he was treated to a large breakfast, half victory, half late birthday feast, and unwrapped all the presents they’d bought for him. He smiled and laughed as much as he could, expressing his gratitude for the gifts and their congratulations, but his thoughts too often turned to thoughts of the boy that he’d left behind him.

He needed to distract himself from thinking of Evan too much, and the others were more than happy to help him, for all they wanted to talk of was the match and the other players (most seemed to forget about Evan). Even hours later, as they sat in the living room after dinner, they were still plying him with questions.

“Is it true that Parker always kisses his Beater’s bat before he goes out on the pitch?” Ron asked.

“Not that I saw,” Harry shrugged. “But he was up ahead of me. And I was a bit too nervous to be watching the others.”

“What about any of the others?” Ginny asked. “Any weird pre-match things?”

“A few,” Harry smiled, and then elaborated on a couple, but left out the weirdest ones, feeling that it wasn’t very gallant of him to reveal their most private moments. He’d certainly hate the same in return.

“Are you _sure_ Parker doesn’t do that kissing thing?” Ron was still frowning. “I read that he never forgets.”

Harry laughed. “I couldn’t see. But there was definitely kissing going on of some kind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dash and Emmy,” he said, grinning. “Emmy kissed him when he was having a bit of a nervous freak out in the tunnel. Then she went and kissed all the rest of us. But he’s the only one that got it on the lips.”

Eyes widened all around him. “Surprised it’s not in _Witch Weekly_ yet,” Bill chuckled. “Are they going out then?”

“No idea. They were _constantly_ flirting before the game, but to be fair, Dash flirts with anyone. They were snogging at the afterparty but they looked a bit embarrassed the next morning when they were hungover.”

“Anything else interesting happen at the afterparty?” Charlie asked, grinning.

“Uh, Emmy turned one of the Irish Aurors into a pig,” Harry said, looking away slightly to stop himself blushing at the thought of what _else_ had happened. “He was chatting her up. Everyone except Elias got majorly drunk.”

“Including you?”

Harry glanced at Mr and Mrs Weasley, who were sitting close by. He could almost see Mrs Weasley’s ears turning towards him.

“No,” he said, trying to sound completely casual. “Just had Butterbeer.”

The assembled Weasley children around him grinned, not fooled at all.

“You’re so lucky, mate,” Ron moaned. He was looking at the signed photographs of all the team that Harry had acquired for everyone and had stopped on Emmy’s picture. “She _kissed_ you. In the tunnel _and_ when you were in the Top Box.”

Harry did blush this time, but not for the reason everyone else thought. As beautiful as Emmy was, her kisses had done absolutely nothing for him. Evan’s on the other hand …

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging and then pretending to yawn. “Listen, I’ve had a crazy couple of days. D’you mind if I go and get some sleep?”

There were no objections, and Harry was allowed to go upstairs to Ron’s room and try and rest, though he was wide awake. He lay awake for hours, visualising Evan’s face before him as he had left that morning, wishing he had said something, done something more than just walk out the room. But even now, he didn’t know what that _something_ should have been.

Ron came up later and tried to quietly question him some more about Elias, but Harry pretended to be asleep.

* * *

The Burrow was as hectic as it usually was over the next couple of days, filled with many more people than it could reasonably hold. Charlie left a few days after Harry’s arrival to head back to Romania, and the twins left the following day to return to their flat above their shop in Diagon Alley, meaning Harry was able to move into their room. As well as having more space and not having to be confronted with the Chudley Cannons shrine in Ron’s room and his many posters of the team looking down at him (which were a little strange now that Harry knew Elias so well), he was grateful for the privacy. Every night now he was dreaming of Evan and what they had done, but this time the dreams always went further and got steamier and steamier. Waking up in the morning with Ron sleeping only a few feet away proved incredibly awkward.

Harry could not stop thinking about him, even when he was awake. Again and again he ran through that last encounter in his head, wondering what he should have done differently. Several times he got out ink and parchment to write a letter, only to stop after writing the words _Dear Evan._ What was he supposed to say? Despite that wonderful evening of kisses and touches, Harry hadn’t done what he’d intended to: talk to Evan properly, discuss what they wanted. He didn’t think he could have a discussion like this over a letter. Besides, he knew the Weasleys were having all their mail read as a security precaution and Harry dreaded writing to Evan only to have a very personal letter sent back which could potentially find its way into the _Daily Prophet_ if some unscrupulous Auror decided he wasn’t being paid enough.

About a week after he had arrived back, the house was far emptier, with only Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny living there, with the occasional visit from an Order member, and talk at the kitchen table was finally a little less about the match, and more about the dark things going on in the world around them.

“Can you believe this?” Bill said, throwing down the newspaper at breakfast. “Three rogue Dementor attacks and the _Daily Prophet_ thinks an article about what shampoo brand England Chasers Sanderson and Haynes use is front page worthy.”

Harry glanced at it. “It’s wrong anyway,” he said. “Becca’s allergic to coconut.”

“I’ll never get over hearing you talk about those players so familiarly,” Ginny said, shaking her head. “ _Becca. Emmy. Nate. Dash …_ it’s like you’re a big time celebrity.”

“I’m not trying to show off or anything,” Harry frowned. “It’s just what we called each other. Fowler called us by our last names all the time and it’s a bit wearing. Like being at school.”

“Speaking of school,” Ron said. “I think you’re bloody mental for staying at Hogwarts.” He pointed to a huge pile of letters which had been delivered over the week. “You’ve got every major team _in the world_ begging you to go join them.”

“Well, I think it’s good Harry’s recognised how important his education is,” Hermione said. “We’re all going to need to be as prepared as we can, after all.”

“That was my thinking,” Harry said heavily. He cast a wistful glance at the letters. “But you know, if they’re still there in a few years, when I’ve left school, and everything’s … better, maybe I’ll take them up on their offers.”

“What about being an Auror?”

Harry grimaced. “Didn’t get the Potions grade, did I? What else can I really do except Quidditch?”

“Harry, there’s loads of things you’re good at—”

“Defence Against the Dark Arts and Quidditch,” Harry said flatly. “Two things. If I can’t do one professionally, why not the other?”

Privately though, he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever even _get_ the chance to play Quidditch. If the prophecy proved true, he might not survive long enough to make the World Cup Nate and the others had been joking about.

His thoughts were tending to take a darker tone overall these days. He found himself in constant dark moods when others weren’t distracting him with Quidditch questions. Thoughts of Sirius and the prophecy, which had been close to being banished during the competition, were now almost crushing him. Harry longed more than ever for Evan to be here; he had been the only one to make him feel better about it all.

Taking Dumbledore’s advice, he had told Hermione and Ron about the prophecy’s contents, and they had reacted as predictably worried as he had thought, though had tried to be as encouraging and supportive as possible, which he appreciated. But Sirius’s death … that was still hanging over him. And though he had never told Evan about the prophecy, he had been the only one he’d discussed Sirius with so far. He couldn’t believe how desperately he wanted to see him.

His darker turns grew worse and worse, and he could tell people around him were noticing, though they attributed it to a general dip in spirits after the excitement of the Championship. Harry spent long hours outside sitting in the garden and looking out over the countryside, wishing Evan were here to help him meditate and banish his worries. Ron tried to get him to play Quidditch more than once, but Harry was only half-hearted when playing. The protective boundaries around the Burrow were too small to allow him to accelerate to any great speed, and nothing less than breakneck, heart-racing speeds was enough to lift his mood. He kept up some of Fowler’s gruelling training regime at the odd hours he could get the orchard to himself, desperate to hold on to some vestiges of the summer he’d spent with Evan before it all began to seem like a distant memory. He felt trapped, and unlike with the Players’ Lodge, he knew he could not sneak out here without being missed almost right away.

A week and a half after his arrival, Lupin came to stay, and was very glad to see Harry again. Harry tried to be as good company as he could, but being with Lupin reminded him a lot of Sirius, and this just made him feel worse. He was so frustrated with himself; how could simply being away from Evan undo all the grieving he had done since Sirius had died and send him straight back to square one?

It didn’t help that the _Daily Prophet_ still ran long articles about the match almost every day, most being fit somewhere on the front page, the tournament still too fresh to yet be relegated to the sport section at the back. Harry had to see himself again and again being splayed across the papers. The photo of the team holding the Cup was the most prominent photo used, and every time Harry saw Evan’s face his heart spasmed painfully. He missed seeing that face every day. He missed waking up in the same room, same _bed_ as him. He dreamed of kissing him again …

The articles were being filled with crazier and crazier rumours as the real news began to wear thin, and more often than not, the article made some sort of reference to Harry as the Chosen One, usually using a picture of him lifting the Cup to illustrate it.

“Look at this one,” sniggered Bill one evening, as he read the _Prophet_ Kingsley had brought with him on a visit to the Burrow. “ _’… it is clear that the recent England victory is directly attributable to Harry Potter’s status of ‘Chosen One’. Whatever force marked him out as the eventual vanquisher of You-Know-Who, surely also gifted him with the ability to crush the Swedish side in the Championship final. It can be no coincidence that the match took place on Potter’s sixteenth birthday; the numbers one and six adding to create seven, the most powerful magical number.’_ I mean, what utter rubbish.”

“It took place on that day because it was postponed with all the new security,” Mr Weasley said, shaking his head with a smile. “No coincidence about it.”

“Ah, but that’s the thing, Arthur,” Lupin said, with a deeply amused tone. “What are the chances it was postponed to _that_ date. If it had taken place the day it was supposed to, Harry would’ve been too young to play. Voldemort technically pushed back the match, and what are the chances the ‘vanquisher’ of Voldemort just so happened to be born on the day it was pushed back to and helped England win a great victory because he was then _coincidentally_ now old enough to take part? Makes a good conspiracy theory.”

He looked at Harry here as though expecting him to smile, but Harry didn’t. He was feeling quite uncomfortable with all these wild stories. It also upset him to think what the rest of the team were thinking, and whether they resented Harry for stealing the limelight after just one match when they’d worked for months to qualify and even reach the final in the first place. And thinking of the team made him think of Evan.

“It all serves to distract from the bad news that is pouring in,” Kingsley said. He was watching Harry very carefully. “Scrimgeour is trying to keep up morale, and stories like this are perfect for that. Harry is the country’s sweetheart at the moment, in more ways than one. He will be a powerful rallying point.”

Harry clenched his fists as he thought of this. He had no intention of being a ‘rallying point’. Couldn’t he just play in a game of Quidditch without all this happening? It made him long for the days back in the Lodge when they’d been completely cut off from the world around and Harry was valued and admired for his skills alone. Evan had never made him feel special because of his name. He didn’t even think the words ‘Chosen One’ had ever passed his lips.

Harry changed his line of thought rapidly. _Don’t think about Evan’s lips_ _in company._

“To be fair, it’s filled with all sorts of other rubbish as well,” Bill said, flicking through it. “Apparently, Watson has grown a tail because he was bitten on the nose by a jarvey.”

Everyone looked at Harry, as was the new habit, and he sighed.

“Jarvey bit’s true,” he said. “There was one living in the gardens and it really hated him. Can’t speak for the tail though.”

Thoughts of the jarvey made him think of the time it had shouted and sworn at him and Evan, making them laugh. Harry groaned internally. Why did _everything_ have to come back to Evan? He’d never regarded himself as the pining type.

“What about Khatri buying a cloak which plays the national anthem every time he walks somewhere?”

“Knowing him? Probably true.”

“Yeah, I remember him from Hogwarts. He used to waltz around in a hat with real fruit hanging off it in case he got hungry during Charms. What about the one that Turner is actually a vampire because he never smiles?”

Harry froze in his seat for a moment as he thought of Evan’s smile.

“He does smile,” Harry said, trying not to give away anything in his voice, but aware he’d suddenly started staring at the ground and his fists had clenched again. “You can see it in some of the photos.”

“Not many of them,” Ginny said, flicking through one of the other magazines idly. “Looks a bit of a grump to me. He only really smiles in the ones where you’ve just won. And this one,” she said, holding up an image of the picture of Harry and Evan standing back-to-back. “Why’s that? Were the two of you messing around or something when it was taken?”

“Erm, I don’t really remember,” Harry said, trying to shrug it off.

“He does seem a bit off,” Ron said, looking over Ginny’s shoulder. “Grouchy like Krum, only worse, coz at least Krum had an expression. This bloke is just blank.”

_Not when you get to know him_ , Harry thought, but didn’t say anything. He was desperate for the subject to change. If this was what they all thought of Evan now, what would they think when they knew what Evan and Harry had been up to? A cold dread settled in his heart.

“How’d you two get to be friends?” Ron asked Harry.

“Friends?” Harry asked, startled. His heart beat faster. He noticed everyone was looking at him, and Kingsley looked particularly intrigued. “We weren’t really.”

“But the commentators said at the match that you’d become good friends!”

Harry tried to laugh. “When have rumours about me ever been true?” His mouth had gone dry. “I wasn’t any friendlier with him than the others. We were just the same age, sharing the same room.”

“But you said,” Hermione was frowning. “You told me and Ron you were friends. In the press conference too. And in your letter to Ron when you said you thought you’d judged him too early.”

Harry was beginning to privately panic. He didn’t want to discuss Evan in front of all of them. He was terrified he’d give himself away, let on that they had been more than friends. He didn’t know how to tell them what had really happened, nor did he want to when it was still all so new and raw. It was far too personal, too confusing.

“I’m not saying we didn’t get on,” he said, trying to backtrack desperately. “But he’s … a funny bloke to get to know. Quiet, you know? We had a couple laughs and we probably did spend a lot of time together, but mainly because everyone else was so much older than us. Didn’t want two teenagers hanging around all the time.”

By saying these words, he knew he was doing a terrible disservice to both Evan and the rest of the team, and he felt like a traitor. But he didn’t know what else to say; he was not yet comfortable with the truth.

“Shame,” Ginny sighed, closing the magazine. “He’s pretty good-looking when he smiles.”

Harry couldn’t agree more.

The clock chimed and Kingsley looked up. “I’d best be going,” he said, standing up. “Now the Championship’s over I’m back with the Muggle Prime Minister and he’ll be waiting.” Before he left however, he stopped and glanced one last time at Harry, a curious expression on his face. “Remus, can I have a word?”

Lupin looked surprised, but stood up and followed Kingsley out the door. Knowing that this had to be about him, Harry immediately excused himself and hurried after them. They’d gone out to the front doorstep to talk, closing the door behind them, but this was no problem for Harry because Fred and George had hidden Extendable Ears all over the Burrow before they had left, and he quickly retrieved some from under a loose floorboard on the stairs and crouched down to thread one end under the front door, putting the other to his ear.

He heard Lupin’s voice straight away.

“—can I help you with?”

“It’s Harry,” Kingsley said, confirming Harry’s suspicions straight away. “There’s something up with him.”

“What?” Lupin sounded immediately concerned. “Something serious?”

“I don’t think so, but I can’t dismiss it either. Something’s happened. You saw him the day of the match. He was walking on air. But the next day, he was completely different. Like all the happiness had been sucked out of him. He said it was a hangover when I asked him, and I might’ve believed it judging by the condition the rest of the team were in, but I don’t think so.”

“Hangover?” Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Lupin sounded fondly amused. “You sure it wasn’t? He is sixteen.”

“Almost positive. I was on-duty at the afterparty, and you wouldn’t believe the amount of Firewhisky there was. But I was watching Harry carefully. He didn’t drink more than one glass, a fairly big glass to be sure, but not enough to get drunk. I lost track of him for a while, but last I saw him he was heading up to his room and it was still pretty early—and by that I mean it wasn’t dawn yet, which is when the rest of them stopped. He didn’t appear drunk then either, but he did look upset.”

“Upset?”

“The rest of the team seemed to think he did something stupid, but Harry refused to tell them what, and they were in no condition to have noticed anything. From what I’ve seen, it’s troubling him. A hangover wouldn’t still be upsetting him now. You’re living here, have you noticed anything the last few days?”

“Well, I suppose he’s been a bit down. But I thought that was to do with Sirius. We’re all still grieving after all.”

“It might be that,” Kingsley said, but he sounded unsure. “But …”

“Do you have another idea?”

Kingsley was silent for so long, Harry thought they’d wandered off elsewhere.

“I have my suspicions,” he replied eventually, speaking very slowly. “But … to tell you, I think, would be an invasion of his privacy. Let’s just say … I was patrolling that Lodge constantly, visibly and invisibly, and I saw a lot of things which he’d be very embarrassed to discover I know about. He hasn’t entirely been honest with the rest of you, which makes me think my suspicions are correct.”

Harry felt horror flood through him. _Kingsley knew_. He must do! He didn’t know how, but he’d somehow managed to spy on Harry and Evan on their jaunts into the woods. With a jolt, Harry realised he hadn’t used the Invisibility Cloak all that often within the woods themselves. He’d simply presumed that the Aurors would have been worried about the Lodge and stadium themselves, not following people into the woods, which, after all, couldn’t be accessed by anyone not wearing a security bracelet.

Harry would have been mortified had he not been so terrified. He didn’t _want_ anyone to know. Not yet. Not until he was certain what he wanted. Feeling sick, he began to wonder exactly what it was Kingsley had seen. He was so preoccupied he almost missed the rest of the conversation.

“I see,” Lupin said. He sounded worried now. “Could any of this cause him any trouble?”

“I don’t believe so; it isn’t dangerous if that’s what you’re thinking. But if it gets in the _Prophet_ , it might make life difficult for him.”

Harry closed his eyes as if that statement had been a death sentence. Kingsley believed his relationship with Evan could ‘make life difficult’. The ache inside him had never seemed worse.

Kingsley sighed. “I really don’t want to intrude into his personal life, Remus. He’s a teenager after all. But he doesn’t have a father to guide him, Sirius is dead, and Arthur’s got his own kids. I suggest you try and have a word with him, see if he’ll talk to you. It wouldn’t be right coming from me, and I think you’d be better fitted anyway.”

“Understood. I’ll keep a close eye on him. But why do you think I’d be better fitted?”

A pause. “You’d understand better.”

Harry withdrew the string and rushed upstairs to his room, slamming the door and sliding down on the other side, feeling like he was about to be sick. _You’d understand better_. Did that mean Kingsley knew the truth and was disgusted by it? That he didn’t want to talk to Harry about his crush on another boy?

As much as he resented the intrusion, as embarrassed as he was at Kingsley knowing the truth, it was drowned out by his extreme fear that the annoying Chosen One stories in the _Daily Prophet_ were about to be overcome by something much worse.

If Kingsley had seen, had anyone else?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I honestly love hearing what you all think. My country's back in full lockdown and I'm once again preparing to be a virtual teacher starting from next week. Been recording lessons all day and I'm thoroughly sick of the sound of my own voice so I love hearing your feedback to take my mind off the craziness of the world right now.
> 
> Hope you don't hate me for taking the story in an angsty direction for a few chapters. I swear to Merlin that things will improve and get fluffy again at some point!


	24. Tabloid Tales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! I've had a hellish day trying to teach seven year olds a grammar lesson virtually, so please excuse me if there's any grammar errors in this one! 😂

Over the next couple of days, Harry made an extreme effort to be more outgoing and happier around the house to try and prevent Lupin from worrying about him and seeking him out. He chatted more than he had before, laughed at Ron’s jokes, even started hanging out with Fleur more, all in an attempt to convince Lupin that there was nothing wrong.

Unfortunately, this all seemed to be in vain. For every time he made sure Lupin saw him laughing with Ron, he also caught him staring melancholically at a wall when he thought he was alone or zoning out during a discussion as some subject reminded him painfully of Evan. Try as he might, Harry wasn’t the greatest at pretending. He wondered how Larsson had ever believed he had seen the Snitch.

Harry took to avoiding Lupin entirely and thought he had managed it, till one afternoon when he was sitting out in the Weasleys’ garden by a slight dip in the hill, watching the garden gnomes and thinking of the garden jarvey back at the Lodge. His legs were bent at the knee and pulled up at his chest, and he rested his chin on them, sighing intermittently. He didn’t see Lupin approaching.

“Harry?”

Harry jumped and looked up. Lupin came to sit beside him on the grass. He looked relaxed and was smiling, but Harry wasn’t fooled.

“I need to go—” Harry said, trying to leave, but Lupin had grabbed him by the sleeve to make him sit back down.

“Just a moment, Harry.”

Harry sat back down, looking anywhere but at Lupin. He didn’t want to talk about this. Not yet. Not when he was still so uncertain himself. Not about Evan; he knew full well now that he was completely crazy about him after all these weeks of pathetic pining. But Harry was still unsure how to proceed. Did he want a boyfriend? Was that what Evan wanted? The thought was almost frightening. As much as he liked Evan, this was moving towards something real, something public, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

“Look, Harry,” Lupin sighed. “I’m worried about you. You’re not happy.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, straight away. “You don’t need to say anything to me.”

Lupin shook his head. “I know full well you’ve been pretending the last couple of days. Ever since you overheard the conversation with Kingsley.”

When Harry looked surprised, Lupin looked at him almost pityingly. “Harry, I was a Marauder. I noticed the Extendable Ear the second it appeared. What I want to know is, was he right? Is there something troubling you? Because from what I’ve seen, there is.”

Harry felt irrationally irritated at this. How could Lupin possibly claim to know him so well?

“I don’t know what Kingsley thought he saw, but I’m fine,” he said firmly. “It was just a hangover. I drank more than he saw. Me and Evan got up to some stupid stuff when we were drinking. Just like the rest of the team did.”

“So, Evan was involved?” Lupin asked, and Harry could have kicked himself; Kingsley hadn’t mentioned him at all.

“Yeah, we did a couple embarrassing things as a joke at the party, but I’m over it now. It’s not a big deal.” Harry said quickly.

Lupin did not believe him, and Harry’s panic was rising. He had to get out of this situation, quickly, before he spilled his guts. Until he was sure he knew what he wanted to have with Evan, no one else could know. He couldn’t let anyone know he was questioning his very identity, everything he thought he was.

“Harry,” Lupin said, his tone became more familiar, something more akin to how Sirius might have spoken to him. “I know you might still see me as your teacher, but you know you can confide in me. Just like you would have Sirius. I know his death has been hard –”

“This has nothing to do with that,” Harry snapped, not wanting to think of Sirius _and_ his conflict over Evan at the same time, fearful he would burst with the emotion of it all.

This was the wrong thing to say, for Lupin had sat back, looking slightly more satisfied.

“So, there _is_ something?”

Harry needed to leave before he said anything more. Shaking off the hand Lupin tried to reach out to him, he stood and all but ran back to the house.

* * *

The next few days, Lupin kept trying to get more chances to talk to Harry alone, but Harry didn’t give him any. Everything was building up on him the more he hid this, but he couldn’t seem to find it in him to tell the truth. More than anything, he needed to speak to Evan about this. Was it possible he was finding the separation as hard as Harry was? Or was he perfectly happy going back to his restrictive parents and training with the Appleby Arrows and hadn’t given Harry a second thought at all? The thought of Harry revealing everything to Lupin only to find out Evan didn’t want anything more to do with him was too painful.

Evan hadn’t written to him, but was that a good sign or a bad one? Harry hadn’t written to him either. What would happen if he wrote to Evan and declared everything he was feeling and Evan just tried to shrug it all off and pretend it was just a casual fling which didn’t mean anything? Harry didn’t think that was the case, but how could he know for _sure?_ That last ‘ _see you soon’_ lingered with him. It had seemed to Harry that Evan had wanted something more from him, but what if that really had just been all it was—a brief summer romance between two boys trying something new?

Harry wasn’t gay, he knew that, or he wouldn’t have had so many graphic dreams about Cho. So had the thing with Evan been a passing infatuation? A weird crush he’d grow out of?

Telling anyone about this, Lupin, or Ron or Hermione, seemed too soon. He couldn’t give a definite answer to anything. Which made the scene which greeted him one morning in the kitchen of the Burrow one which sent blank terror shooting across his mind.

He’d been late down to breakfast, and when he’d walked in saw that everyone else was there, including Fred and George who’d dropped in for some free food, and Kingsley, who’d arrived with some Order report or other. Lupin, who had been waiting on the stairs for Harry every morning in an attempt to catch him on his own, entered at the same time. Bill was once again reading the paper to the room, everyone listening with amused smiles on their faces. Harry assumed it was another one of the _Prophet’s_ ridiculous gossipy columns about the Championship, or another ludicrous Chosen One story until he saw the headline.

_POTTER’S SECRET SWEETHEART?_

Underneath was the picture of him and Evan in their England robes.

The kitchen seemed to start spinning around him and he could not breathe. Only the fact that everyone in the room seemed to be laughing rather than throwing accusations at him kept him from turning and running back up the stairs.

Bill stopped reading when he saw Harry, and his grin widened. “Look, Harry! You won’t believe what rubbish they’ve written today!” Without waiting for Harry to say anything, he began to read aloud.

_The entire world is talking about Harry Potter, who, as well as being the only survivor of the Killing Curse and supposed conqueror of You-Know-Who, revealed himself three weeks ago to also be an exceptionally talented Quidditch player. Everyone has been eager to get to know the elusive Mr Potter and the_ Daily Prophet _can now reveal an exclusive inside look into Potter’s personal life._

_From inside sources, your reporter has discovered that not only did Potter form close friendships with his fellow England team members, he also took it a step further with one of them—fellow sixteen year old, Evander Turner. According to witnesses, Potter and Turner were often seen closely together in the exclusive Players’ Lodge and were also spotted sneaking off into the woods for long periods of time on their own. What they did on these private excursions is anyone’s guess, and some may say it was entirely platonic, but it should be noted that neither of them ever once went on a secret stroll with any other player. At the press conference before the match, Potter claimed Turner is the one he ‘probably spends the most time with’, and it’s known that the two were roommates during the competition, which could indicate something scandalous may have been going on in the privacy of their bedroom. Turner, a notoriously reserved and often unapproachable individual, is not known for his warm smiles or friendly demeanour. Indeed, in all of the official photographs taken before the match, Turner can be seen to smile in only one of them: the one taken with Potter._

_According to Niall Kane, an Auror on the security force for the Players’ Lodge, Turner was frequently seen to smile only in Potter’s company. ‘Turner was a strange kid,” he told us yesterday. ‘Didn’t speak to no one unless they spoke to him first. But with Potter, it was different. I saw them sitting out in the gardens one day, talking and laughing like there was no tomorrow. Didn’t see him smile again till after the match. Call me crazy, but there was a funny way they were looking at each other.’_

_Circumstantial, perhaps? There’s more. At the afterparty in the Players’ Lodge, both Potter and Turner were seen to be drinking heavily and dancing with each other. Shortly afterwards, Potter was observed to leave the dancefloor for the privacy of the gardens, Turner following almost immediately, possibly for a romantic liaison. One witness claims he saw Potter and Turner standing closely together in the gardens when he went outside, but Potter soon departed when seeing that they’d been spotted, with, as our source describes, ‘a face as red as fire’._

_With recent rumours that Beater Aardash Khatri and Chaser Emmeline Sanderson also entered into a relationship during this Championship, and with Chasers Rebecca Haynes and Nathaniel Watson already in one, it begs the question: just what was in the water at that Lodge? A series of Love Potions, perhaps? Manager Theodoric Fowler had this to say: ‘I don’t give a damn what those boys may have gotten up to up in their room, as long as they performed well on the pitch. Turner was a gloomy looking kid before Potter showed up, so if they did do something, good on them, cause he certainly stepped up his game after he arrived’._

_Potter and Turner have so far refused to comment on these claims, but, as readers may remember, interviews conducted with Potter’s schoolmates before the match did reveal that Potter is not known to have many girlfriends. In fact, most could not remember him having had one at all, unlike most boys his age. Could this possibly be because it was a boyfriend he wanted instead? Watch this space!_

It was as bad as Harry could possibly have dreamed. Even without confirmation that he and Evan had actually kissed, this was enough to set off a series of rumours and stories which would still be plaguing Harry years from now. It was everything he had feared.

No one else seemed to have noticed Harry’s horror, at least not yet. Ron was laughing loudly.

“Ridiculous isn’t it?” he said. “They’ve no proof at all. Just cause you were roommates. You and I have been roommates for five years and it doesn’t make us secret boyfriends!”

“Yeah,” Harry said faintly, still numb. “Ridiculous.”

“I mean, what are they basing this off?” Ginny asked, leaning in to have a look. “The fact that he doesn’t smile much? You said he does, right?”

Harry nodded, heart beating so fast it was almost a constant hum. Was it possible he could get out of this? “Uh huh. He’s just … just shy. We—erm—we were both the odd ones out, so we hung out the most.”

“What about all this sneaking out then? Off to snog in the woods?” Ron was almost bent over with laughter.

Harry attempted to laugh too. “We were spying on the Swedes with the Invisibility Cloak mostly.” He licked his lips nervously. “And getting away from Fowler. He—he was a proper taskmaster.”

Harry forced himself to try and stay calm. No one seemed to believe it—not with all the other recent ridiculous rumours kicking around. If he stayed calm, could this blow over? No one really believed gossip like this … did they?

But then he remembered the trials he’d faced last year with the _Prophet’s_ campaign against him and felt like he was going to be sick. The Weasleys might not believe it, but thousands of others might. _Including everyone at school._

“You weren’t really drinking though, were you?” Mrs Weasley asked, hands on her hips.

The Weasley children burst out laughing again. “Yeah, is that what happened, Harry?” Fred asked, wiping a tear from his eye. “Drink too much and start getting off with him in the gardens? You were dancing together, right?”

He stood up and seized George, and they started waltzing through the kitchen to more gales of laughter. Harry tried to laugh too, though he felt more like bursting into tears.

“Yeah, had a bit too much. We were all dancing together, the whole team. That’s the bit they missed out. I went outside to throw up and Evan came to check on me.”

“Oh, I haven’t laughed like this in a while,” Ron said, face almost as red as his hair he was so entertained. “How stupid is this? ‘No girlfriends’ … bet no one asked Cho that question! You were mooning after her for ages! But all this time it was me or Neville you were after instead! Ha!”

Harry nodded, still trying to keep his expression as light as he could while a terrible clawing sensation threatened to tear him apart from the inside. _This is what they think. The whole idea of me fancying a boy is hilarious._

_“_ Funny they’d pick him of all people,” Ginny said, giggling. “He’s probably the last one on that team you’d expect to be secretly dating someone. He’s such a peculiar bloke. They say he wasn’t even allowed in Hogwarts because there was something wrong with him.”

Harry ached to hear Evan spoken of in this way. He longed to defend him, to scream it from the rooftops, but he was completely paralysed by his fear, his terrible fear of discovery, of humiliation. No article that the _Daily Prophet_ had ever written about him had hurt this much. To take something which was so amazing, so beautiful, and exploit it for a bit of salacious gossip before it had even really begun, spreading Harry’s deepest secret around the place with absolutely no regard for him or his feelings. He’d never loathed the press more. He was exposed for the whole world to see in a way he’d never been before.

Hermione was reading the article and shaking her head. “The evidence is so flimsy. There’s nothing to say there’s anything here but friendship.”

“Well, of course there isn’t,” Bill said, “it’s the _Daily Prophet!_ When does it ever get anything right?”

“Well, I dunno, they got the bit about Khatri and Sanderson right, according to Harry,” Ron said, chuckling. “Maybe it _is_ true? Eh, Harry?”

He turned to grin at him, but he must have noticed the uncomfortable grimace he received in return, because he started frowning a little, smile starting to slip.

“No one who saw you at that match being kissed by Sanderson would believe this,” George said. “There’s pictures and everything. Everyone can see how much you’re blushing. Why would you do that if you were gay?”

_Because Evan was pressed up against me at the time_ , Harry thought miserably. He wanted to crawl under a rock and hide. He couldn’t keep this up. He could feel his legs shaking. Any minute now he was going to succumb and confess everything, and then they’d all look at him in pity or worse—disgust.

_The very idea of it is laughable to them. They wouldn’t understand._

His urge to run multiplied when he looked down the table a little and saw Kingsley sitting there, watching Harry with a frown on his face. Harry knew straight away that he knew everything, knew the _Daily Prophet_ hadn’t gotten it wrong at all. He looked as though he wanted to interject something, cease the teasing and the laughter to spare Harry’s feelings, but didn’t know how.

Harry looked away from him. There was a tightness in his chest which was getting worse and worse with every second. The picture of Evan on the front page was looking at him, judging, accusing … _why aren’t you defending the idea of us?_

Fred had seized the paper and was reading it again, snickering. “ _Romantic liaison_ … _face as red as fire …_ it’s like one of mum’s romance novels!” He looked up at Harry. “How much were you drinking for these ‘witnesses’ to think you had the hots for a bloke?”

Harry couldn’t answer, he didn’t think he could even open his mouth. His body was numb except for the pain in his chest. He could barely move, frozen in place as the world was closing in around him and there was nowhere he could go. Across the table, Hermione had stopped laughing. Like Kingsley, she now looked concerned. Things were going from bad to worse. Harry was suffocating and there was no escape. The only person in the world who could have made him feel better was God knew where and—

Harry’s horror increased as he thought of Evan reading this. What was going through his mind? Was he now furiously regretting what had happened? Did he never want to see Harry again? Their entire relationship, or whatever it was, could just have been killed stone dead, and that thought was like an ice-cold knife had buried itself deep in Harry’s heart. Evan might hate him now. And Harry had never even had the opportunity to tell him how he really felt, to discuss whether or not they wanted to take it any further …

“It _isn’t_ true, is it?” Ron asked, who had been watching Harry the last couple of minutes. His eyes went wide when Harry didn’t answer. “ _It is?”_

The appalled expression on his face told Harry everything he needed to know. Stares met him from across the room. The knife buried itself a little deeper.

“Of course not!” Harry said loudly, laughing near hysterically through his panic. “You know me, Ron, when have I ever had eyes for a _guy?_ It’s just more _Prophet_ lies to sell papers now they’re running out of real news about the match. Me and Evan were just mates!”

And just like that, Harry began to hate himself. Hate the tone of revulsion which had just come out of his mouth. He was disgusted with what he was doing; denying the happiness which Evan had brought to his life, denying what he meant to him.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. “You had me worried there for a minute, mate. But why you looking so upset then?”

“I’m just sick of them printing lies about me,” Harry said, hating himself more and more. “I hate being the subject of gossip all the time. I wish they’d just leave me alone.”

“Yeah,” Fred said, now laughing again. “And it’ll probably hurt your chances with the girls after this!”

“That’s right,” Harry said, still with a smile on his face which he _knew_ must be near maniacal, but no one saw through. “Big setback after all the work I did winning the Championship!

The others laughed, and Harry thought they had finally entirely dismissed the idea. They resumed their discussions, soon moving onto other topics, entirely unaware that for Harry, the entire world had stopped. Feeling started to come back into his legs and Harry knew he had to run, and run _now._

Muttering something about wanting some fresh air, Harry turned to leave the room. It was then he saw Lupin, who he’d entirely forgotten had been standing at his side. Unlike the others, he did not look amused. Instead, he was gazing at Harry with a growing expression of realisation, a deep understanding in his eyes.

Harry immediately pushed past him and headed off into the garden before he could break down entirely.


	25. Conversation with a Werewolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone's comments!

Harry had thrown himself on the ground in the Weasleys’ garden, hidden from the view of the house by a slight rise in the earth. He drew his legs close to his body and pressed his face against his knees, breathing deeply, trying to stop tears spilling from his eyes. Why had this had to happen? What had he done to deserve it? Whatever hope he might have had of finally plucking up the courage to perhaps pursue a relationship with Evan was gone for good. If things like this were going to become the norm, was it even worth ever trying to have a private life? He could never have the same life as a normal teenager, free to date, experiment with or simply fancy whoever he wanted without them reporting on it. How could any relationship withstand pressure like that?

At this rate, all his life was going to be was the way they saw it: the Chosen One, the thing they had made him into, living for nothing except one day killing or being killed by Voldemort. The crushing weight of the prophecy had never seemed so heavy as it did now.

He heard the footsteps but didn’t lift his head. He didn’t want to face this.

“Go away.”

“Harry, please.”

Another pair of footsteps approached. Kingsley _and_ Lupin then. Couldn’t they understand that he didn’t want to talk about it?

“It’s not true,” he said, knowing he was clinging to a futile hope here. One which was growing ever more and more distant. How long would it be until he was forced to admit it?

“Harry,” Kingsley was saying, his voice gentler than Harry had ever heard it. “I know it is. Or at least, there is a basis for it. I saw the two of you.”

Anger sprang into being in Harry’s chest, blinding anger which collided forcefully with the pain. He snapped his head up to glare at him, rising to his feet a second later.

“Really? And what did you _see?”_

“Harry,” Kingsley said, dropping his voice even lower, half glancing at Lupin standing at the side. “Invisibility Cloaks don’t fool our sensors; we knew every time you left the Lodge and could track you too, invisible or not. The bracelets …”

Harry looked at his wrist, where the emerald security bracelet was still attached. He hadn’t had the heart to remove it.

“We had to follow you,” Kingsley was saying, face apologetic. “You and Evan. All the Aurors knew how often you were together.”

“So, you were _spying?”_ Harry was outraged at the thought of all these Aurors tracking him and Evan to the clearing, the river, listening in on their most private conversations, perhaps talking and laughing about what they’d heard. “Are you the ones that leaked it then?”

“It was purely for security, Harry,” Kingsley said, frowning. “I do not know who has leaked this information, but it certainly was not me.”

“It was _private.”_ Harry was shaking, and he didn’t care how emotional he was getting now. He’d never been so humiliated. “Were you watching in the garden as well?”

“No,” Kingsley said. “I do not know what happened there. I assure you, I always tried to give you as much privacy as possible. We did not listen in, and we most certainly were not spying. That Irish Auror, Kane, was not one of my team. He had no right to speak to the press about a charge of his. If it wasn’t for the war, he’d probably lose his job for that.”

Harry didn’t care. It was still such a huge invasion that he felt like screaming, or cursing him or something, though he knew rationally that he’d only been doing his job, and Harry had _known_ there were Aurors about, but had just been too careless.

“But you saw, right?” he asked, voice trembling. “You all saw something.”

Kingsley winced. “Not much. But … yes, I did see … I saw how … close you were getting. How he looked at you … and you at him.”

Harry turned away, feeling like he would throw up. All those precious memories felt tainted somehow now. Evan … he was so private a person … he would be humiliated too, surely.

“Leave me alone,” he said, highly aware he was close to tears. When Kingsley tried to say something more, he shouted. “Just go!”

There was the sound of retreating footsteps, but only one set. Harry was still breathing heavily. He held his head in his hands and screwed up his face, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to spill from him. He was still so close to the house.

“Harry, it’s just me now. Can we talk?”

Lupin’s voice was soft, but Harry still winced. He didn’t think he _could_ talk. The lump in his throat was too great. Lupin took a few hesitant steps towards him, before coming side by side and placing his hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. Harry didn’t move away, but he couldn’t open his eyes yet. It was taking everything he had not to start weeping. Lupin pulled him closer when Harry didn’t resist, pulling him into a brief one-armed hug before turning him around to face him, placing his other hand on Harry’s other shoulder.

“Harry, look at me.”

Harry shook his head jerkily. To do that, would mean he’d completely break down. He couldn’t bear to have Lupin, last friend of his parents, look at him the way Ron just had. To have some of the best feelings he’d ever had in his life dismissed as a joke.

Lupin’s hands moved to the side of Harry’s head. “Harry,” he said more firmly, almost in his old teacher voice. “Open your eyes.”

And, amazingly, Harry obeyed. What he saw was not a face filled with judgement, nor disgust or humour. Instead, Lupin appeared almost as emotional as he did.

“Is it true?” he asked him gently.

Slowly, Harry nodded his head. “S-sort of,” he said, trying to keep a grip of himself. “I—I mean … I …” He felt tears welling at his eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Remus.”

Lupin nodded. He glanced back in the direction of the house and gestured for Harry to follow him down the slight incline until they were more concealed before they both sat down on the ground. A few garden gnomes wandered by as they sat there, Lupin waiting until Harry had recovered himself slightly. He was still shaking like a leaf.

“Can you tell me, Harry?”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He hugged his knees closer to himself, searching for the words. Lupin hadn’t run away, hadn’t laughed. It was a good start. Yet, all this felt too solemn, like it was all sordid and _wrong_. And that hadn’t been what it was like at all.

“The article—it’s not totally wrong,” Harry said, drawing a deep breath. “It’s … mostly right actually, for a change. It’s … we …”

He fizzled out, and Lupin took pity on him.

“This Evan and you business … when did things start?”

What d’you mean?” Harry asked, heart thumping. “What things?”

“Well, I presume _something_ happened. All this didn’t come out of nowhere.” Lupin’s voice was entirely conversational as though they were talking about the weather. “I understand you were meeting in secret. What happened there?”

Harry was now blushing. “Nothing,” he said. “We were just talking … but … it was pretty personal stuff.” He exhaled and looked down. “Evan’s … had some tough things go on in his life and he was … sort of helping me deal with … things …”

“With Sirius,” Lupin said, nodding, a clouded look coming into his eyes. “The events at the Ministry. I can understand that. You’ve been through some terrible things in your life, Harry. Things someone your age should never have had to deal with. It’s perfectly reasonable to feel embarrassed that people might find out the content of those conversations.”

Harry nodded, glad he understood at least this part.

“But it was more than just conversation, this relationship of yours?” Lupin’s tone was not judgemental, but still, Harry’s blush deepened. He nodded stiffly.

“I liked him,” he admitted. “I was starting to … to _really_ like him. You know what I mean?”

“Yes, I believe I do,” Lupin said, tips twitching. “It … progressed, didn’t it? This liking?”

Harry was squirming with discomfort now, but he knew now that he had started, he had to go on. The panic which had almost consumed him in the kitchen was filtering away the longer he stayed here talking. He needed to get this out, somewhere, and since Lupin wasn’t finding everything hilarious, he was the best choice right now.

“Yeah,” he said. “At … at the party.”

“This mysterious incident in the gardens?”

Harry grimaced; how was it possible to be this embarrassed? His face had never been this hot.

“We … kissed,” he said, unable to look at him. “That’s—that’s what happened.”

He held his breath, waiting to see if Lupin would express any shock, any revulsion, but nothing was forthcoming. He didn’t dare look at his face.

“I see. And were you, as the paper says, very drunk at the time?”

“No, not very.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Harry winced. “Yes. A lot.”

“Did he like it?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“And have you kissed him again since then?”

Harry clenched his hands together, remembering the night in the hotel. “Once, in London. But … nothing else’s happened.” He shifted uncomfortably, as he remembered that night again. “Well, not much.”

He groaned and held his head in his hands again. “I don’t know what to do now,” he said again. “I’m just so confused.”

To his surprise, when he finally lifted his head, he saw that Lupin was smiling. “Well, usually, Harry,” he said, speaking in the same tone he had had when teaching a class, “when two people kiss, and both of them enjoy it, it often leads to something called dating.”

A thrill went through him, and he blinked. “Dating?” he repeated. “But – I don’t know if I want to.”

“I thought you liked him?”

“I do! But—” Harry didn’t know how to put this next part into words, or why he was so panicked at the thought of it when he knew deep down how much he liked Evan. “It’s … I’ve always … liked girls. And now … it’s different. I’m supposed to be into girls, right? I went out with Cho last year. It was a complete mess, but I still liked her. How could I go out with a boy now?”

Lupin waited a moment, chewing on his bottom lip, seeming to be coming to a decision. “Have you ever …” he began, a little hesitant. “Have you ever heard the word ‘bisexual’?”

Harry shook his head.

“It means,” Lupin said, smiling a little, “that you can like girls _and_ boys. It’s perfectly normal, if a little misunderstood in some quarters.”

Harry stared at him. There seemed to be a slight ringing in his ears. Something was falling into place within him. One of the pieces of his brain which had been going haywire since that night of the first kiss stopped screaming at him. _Bisexual?_

Lupin reached out to touch Harry’s shoulder again, , coming a little closer to him, seeing he was too stunned for words. “Not many people know this, Harry,” he said, swallowing suddenly. “But … that’s what I am. I’m not very open about it. Werewolves … we don’t tend to date very often, so no one’s ever questioned me on it. I haven’t had much chance to explore it.”

“Then how do you know?” Harry was embarrassed by how desperate he sounded. He was looking at Lupin in a whole new light, a warm feeling starting to stave away the cold dread.

Lupin sighed. He twisted his hands together, and Harry was suddenly aware he was just as uncomfortable as Harry was.

“I had a couple of girlfriends at school, ones I did genuinely care for,” he said softly. “It never lasted long. They never really understood about where I had to go every month, and I never had the guts to tell them. And there’s been a few odd women since then, and a couple of men. But … there was one person, one boy, I always liked. I realised I liked him at about the same age you are now. But … he was straight, and I never told him. And now …”

Lupin was staring down at his hands, blinking rapidly, and Harry suddenly understood.

“Sirius?”

Lupin nodded, lips twisting. “I don’t think anything would have ever happened. He was most definitely into girls. But … I’ll always regret not letting him know.”

Harry felt his own worries vanish. “I’m so sorry,” he said, unable to imagine how he must be feeling. To have lost someone you cared for, who you’d secretly liked for years, unable to pluck up the courage … and now to have lost the chance forever.

Lupin nodded and drew in a deep breath, clearing his throat. “Yes, well, that’s enough about me for now. I’m here to try and help you, and I see now why Kingsley said I should be the one to talk to you. I understand perfectly where you’re coming from.”

Harry suddenly felt like crying again. What was _wrong_ with him? Why was he such an emotional mess?

“Harry, you might be bi,” Lupin said, smiling again, “or you might not be. Only you can figure that out. If you like this boy as much as you say you do, you owe it to both of you to take some time to do just that. It might be the greatest discovery you ever make in your life.”

Harry considered this; he thought back to how amazing it had been with Evan, how happy it had made him, how much he’d loved kissing him, touching him …

“But I don’t know how,” he said, sadly. “I might never see him again— he doesn’t go to Hogwarts … I have no idea how we could … I dunno, be together, or whatever. Or if he even wants to. Or if _I_ do.”

“I can’t help with that, Harry,” he said. “You’d have to speak to him. But if you’re still moping around like this almost a month after you last kissed him, I think it’s more than just a fleeting little summer romance. It’s perfectly okay to want to take some time to come to terms with it all. The label doesn’t really matter in the end, you know. There’s no rush to figure things out.”

Harry wasn’t sure he could agree. The summer holidays would end soon, and he’d be stuck at Hogwarts until at least December. When would he get the chance to see him again? Writing this down in a letter didn’t seem right. But they could hardly have a face-to-face relationship from either side of the country either.

Lupin began to stand up, brushing the grass off his robes, and Harry stood up with him. “I’ll leave you to think about it, Harry,” he said, placing a hand on his arm in a way Sirius might have done. “Just know I’m here if you need to talk about it. And your friends are too.”

“I can’t tell them,” Harry said immediately.

“Harry—”

“How can I?” he objected. “Look how they reacted to the thought of it! Ron could barely breathe from laughing. I don’t want him to – to hate me or –”

Harry wrung his hands as he thought of the article again. “Even if I—if I did want to be with Evan, I don’t know if I could handle it. All the gossip and the horrible stuff people say and write in the papers.”

He felt panicked again. “I’m used to horrible stuff like this,” he said, voice growing faster. “When the _Daily Prophet_ said I was mad, it was awful, but I could deal with it, because I knew it wasn’t true. When they said I was a liar, and when _Witch Weekly_ wrote that gossip about me and Hermione, same thing. I knew it wasn’t true. So as much as it bothered me, I could deal with it. But this … this _is_ true. I don’t know how to deal with people knowing about this.”

It was also the same way he felt about the whole world thinking he was the Chosen One and Harry _knowing_ it was true. But of course, he couldn’t tell Lupin that. It was another secret he had to keep.

Lupin nodded. “I know,” he said softly. “Dealing with lies is often easier than dealing with the truth. I’ve experienced the same thing. With your public presence, I imagine it’ll be that much harder for you. Which is why I believe you should tell your friends. Lying to them isn’t a good way to start off learning to accept yourself.”

“Did you?” Harry asked, meeting his eyes. “You didn’t tell Sirius, but did my dad know?”

Lupin flinched. “No,” he said. “I didn’t tell them. Like you, I was too worried about the consequences. I was too young to be secure about it. I did tell Sirius eventually, after he got out of Azkaban, just not the whole truth. He was so good about it I wish I had told him and your dad earlier. But quite a few of the Order know, and I'm glad they do, because I feel less alone than I used to. Kingsley, Mad-Eye, Dumbledore, Tonks …” For some reason, his face grew tense at the mention of Tonks. “I can’t tell you how your friends will react, but I think it may be better than you think.”

Harry didn’t know whether to believe him. Ron’s look of horror when he thought it could possibly have been true was vivid in his memory. He could just picture it: _Ron … I think I like boys._ _Or girls. Or possibly both. And by the way, I’m going out with that Keeper you hate for beating the Chudley Cannons …_ It would be a disaster, and he didn’t think he could lose Ron.

Possibly seeing all this written on Harry’s face, Lupin took a step closer to him and pulled him into a brief hug. Harry stiffened at first; this was the first time they’d done something like this, and Lupin _had_ used to be his teacher after all. But, after a moment, he relaxed, and found some of the anxieties of the day melting away. Despite the fact his entire world was crumbling around him, at least he had this. At least one person was on his side.

“Thanks,” he said to Lupin, as they stepped apart, grateful beyond belief for all of this, despite the many confusing feelings still milling around inside him. The outright horror and panic the article had induced had lessened at least a little, and though he was still partially in a state of shock, he could appreciate Lupin’s help, and how much he had confided in Harry. The burden felt a little lighter knowing he wasn’t alone. “You … you’ve helped.”

“I’m glad,” Lupin said, smiling and beginning to walk away. Before he got too far, he turned back around and winked at him. “Oh, and Harry? If you like Evan enough, he’ll be worth all the gossip in the world.”

He turned around and headed off out of sight, back to the Burrow, leaving Harry to sit by himself, thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a side-note, I don't want anyone to feel that I'm going to verge into 'Ron bashing' in this story. I absolutely love Ron, but I also know he's got flaws, insensitivity only being one of them. Ron's character in Half-Blood Prince is not always shown in its best light, and that'll be reflected in this fic. He's going to say and do some things in future chapters which are less than perfect, but be assured that I'm not going to completely write him off. Ron's good points as well as his bad will come across. I love him too much to do otherwise! 💖


	26. At the Platform

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay ... apologies in advance. This chapter might be the angstiest in the entire fic, especially the ending. Upside is though ... it doesn't get any worse!

Over the next week, Harry spent a long time thinking about what Lupin had said to him, yet failed to come to any conclusions. Every time he seemed to have figured something out, another niggling doubt came crawling in and reversed his entire thought process. He kept thinking over that word: _bisexual_.

On the surface, it was everything he’d been searching for; it managed to explain how he could be attracted to girls and boys. But he still kept questioning it. How come Evan was the _only_ boy he’d ever liked? He’d shared a dormitory with four other boys for years, seeing them all in various states of undress, shared changing rooms with boys … how come he’d never noticed another boy like that when he’d admired several girls in that way? He’d only ever really fancied Cho, but he hadn’t been blind to the other girls at school either. Why had none of the boys ever caught his eye if he really was bisexual?

This was the sort of thing he’d usually ask Hermione about, but he was still too nervous to tell her. She’d probably have heard the word in a book somewhere, but did that mean she really understood? She had after all been one of the ones finding the story about Evan amusing. In times like this, Harry and the others had often taken to the library for answers to questions, but Harry wondered if there was a single book in the Hogwarts library which discussed sexuality.

And of course, he could never say anything to Ron about it.

Articles about the two of them were now appearing regularly in the _Daily Prophet_ , though without much new information, just a few more quotations from ‘witnesses’ who had seen them hanging out together. Photos now accompanied these images every day to support their claims. There was one of Harry and Evan walking down to the stadium in their training robes with their brooms, laughing at some joke; one of them hugging after he’d caught the Snitch; holding hands during their team bow; one from the match when Evan had come to check on the injured Harry; sitting side by side at the press conferences, one of them catching Harry smiling at Evan in a particularly obvious way; a picture of them talking while on their brooms during that last warm-up session before the match and perhaps most condemning of all, one from the party of Harry and Evan sitting in those stupid inflatable chairs, drinks in hand, laughing hysterically at something. They were leaning very close together in this last picture, and certainly looked as though they were drunk.

Ron found the articles very amusing, and the pictures even more so. He tapped the one at the party and nudged Harry at the breakfast table.

“You _sure_ you didn’t get carried away and come on to him—you look drunk enough,” he said, sniggering. “What you two sitting so close for?”

“It was loud,” Harry muttered, hoping to change the subject. “Couldn’t hear him.”

“You must’ve drunk loads. What’s Firewhisky like?”

“Don’t answer that, Harry,” Mrs Weasley cut across straight away, frowning. “You shouldn’t have been drinking at all. Look at all this trouble it’s caused.”

Harry refrained from wincing at Mrs Weasley referring to ‘trouble’. In actual fact, he was incredibly grateful he had drunk that night. The drink had been what finally gave him the courage to make a move.

“It’s all just circumstantial,” Harry complained, looking at the other pictures. “The rest of the team were just inches away in most of these and they’ve just cropped them out. I mean, look—you can actually _see_ Nate’s hand in this one.”

“Don’t worry, Harry, I’m sure it’ll all blow over soon,” Mr Weasley said amicably. “Everyone will soon see there’s no substance to it.”

“Not before I go back to Hogwarts,” Harry said, rubbing his temple. It was only two days before school started back and the thought of what Draco Malfoy and the Slytherins would make of this was keeping him awake for hours. And that wasn’t to mention what jibes Snape would have in store.

Across the table, Lupin was watching him carefully. He had not tried to speak to Harry again, but he did keep an almost annoyingly close eye on him. Harry knew he was wondering why he hadn’t yet taken his advice and told everyone else the truth.

“You’ve lived through worse,” Ginny said, shrugging. She was looking through the photo book that Harry had gotten for his birthday and Becca had sent on yesterday filled with all the final photos from the match and afterparty. “At least they haven’t gotten their hands on _these_ pictures. Some of these look pretty suggestive. See?”

She held up one of Harry, Evan and Aardash lying sprawled across one of the beds in Aardash’s room, giggling and being silly after having raced there all the way from the pitch for the grand prize of the last Chocolate Frog. “Cut Khatri out of this one and it’s basically the two of you in bed together.”

Harry’s cheeks flamed and he looked away, thinking about when he and Evan _had_ been in bed together.

Truth was, he lived in dread of another photo somehow surfacing—one of Evan and him in the gardens. Their kiss hadn’t exactly been private, and Harry knew there could have been any number of people looking out of the windows, possibly armed with cameras. No matter how drunk he could claim to have been, a photo like _that_ would be much harder to explain.

“You okay, Harry?” Hermione asked. Unlike the others, she had not been handing out teasing comments, and usually watched him with a far too shrewd look in her eye.

“It’s just embarrassing,” Harry said, shrugging, swallowing his misery and committing himself to more lies. “You know? He’s my mate, and all of this is just weird. Like, if they started writing—I dunno, that there was something going on with me and Ron.”

“No offence, mate, but you’re not my type,” Ron chuckled. He shook his head. “Could you _imagine_ though?”

“I thought you said you and him weren’t really mates?” Ginny asked, closing the book to pass it back to him. “Were you friends or not? I’m confused.”

_Me too,_ he thought privately, before answering, “Uh, yeah, I’d say we were friends, but not like _close_ friends. He’s not the sort of guy who you … you know, have as a best friend. Hard to read.”

Lupin was shaking his head softly, and this time his eyes _were_ judgemental. Harry felt terrible. He was betraying Evan with every word he spoke.

“What’s he making of all this?” Bill asked. “Has he contacted you?”

Harry shook his head, trying to act casual, but the knowledge that Evan hadn’t reached out hurt more than he let on. He was constantly wracked with doubts about whether he should be the one to write but chickened out every time, remembering the security screening of their letters. He was terrified another Auror would prove as unreliable as Kane and leak even more personal details to the _Prophet._

“No, but it might not bother him so much. He’s not really the social type anyway. It won’t affect him too badly.”

At least, that was what Harry hoped. He couldn’t bear not knowing how Evan was reacting to this. Was he as humiliated as Harry? Angry?

“What about the rest of the team?”

Now they _had_ contacted Harry. Aardash’s letter had been predictably full of teasing: _‘If it’s true like the story they ran about me and Emmy (can you believe she’s actually said yes to going out with me???) then good one! He’s cute, if not my type. The two of you seemed to kinda fit. I swear I didn’t know that kid could laugh till you arrived. Least now I know why you picked him as the one you were closest to at the press conference—I was insulted for days! Not fair though. I mean, it’s not as if I could’ve given you the same benefits he did if it was me that had been your roommate …’_

Emmy’s letter had been less teasing, and actually quite supportive: ‘ _He’s really sweet actually, when you get to know him. If it’s true, I’m happy for you. He was the one whose idea it was to have the birthday party coz he said you had a pretty crappy childhood and probably wouldn’t have had one before. You know, I’m honestly starting to regret saying yes to Dash. The flirting’s actually getting worse now, would you believe …_

Elias’s had been amused: ‘ _So is THIS the stupid thing the two of you got up to that night you wouldn’t tell us about? Was I the ONLY one not to get lucky at that bloody party? Why do Quidditch teams have to have uneven numbers …”_

Becca and Nate had sent a joint letter also expressing their support for the two of them and letting him know to contact them if he needed any advice on maintaining a relationship in the public eye: ‘ _It’s rubbish at times, we won’t lie. Getting photographers crawling all around you when you’re trying to have a private dinner. But it’s worth it, we swear, if you like each other. Don’t be worried …’_

As kind as all these had been, they set off a rippling anxiety inside him. They were all congratulating him and offering their support for a relationship he wasn’t even in yet. Was Evan receiving letters like this? Would it scare him off?

It also bothered him slightly that every single one of them had seemed to believe the story, despite them all knowing how unscrupulous the press was. It led him to think they might all have suspected something beforehand, and made Harry dread how obvious he had been, and who else had potentially noticed.

“Erm, yeah,” he said, finally answering Bill’s question after a moment. “They all find it pretty funny, to be honest.”

Lupin’s eyes were boring into him, and he excused himself from the table to head back up to his room. There was not much space in here, not with all the boxes Fred and George had left behind, but Harry’s trunk still managed to fit in somehow. It was not yet packed for going back to school.

Harry, for want of something to do, started shoving things into it. He stopped when he found the little grass bracelet Evan had made him still inside. He sat back on the bed and held it in his hands, feeling oddly like tears. It was entirely yellow now. Was this some sort of sign that what they’d had was now over? That it was just a brief summer dalliance?

He slid it onto his wrist, finding that it was still surprisingly strong. It settled next to the security bracelet that he was still wearing. When new, the two had matched perfectly, now they clashed. Harry didn’t want to remove it though. This security bracelet was a reminder of that Lodge, and the things that had happened there. It matched the one that Harry, perhaps foolishly, hoped Evan was also still wearing. He could still remember when Evan had sat holding his hand, reading his fortune and telling him he would win the match, their two charms clashing against each other.

Harry wished more than anything that he could talk to him again. Why was he such a coward? Why couldn’t he just send Evan a letter and ask to meet up? He couldn’t invite him here, not with the security measures for the Order of the Phoenix and everyone else here, and not in public either, but maybe at his house? He didn’t even know where he lived …

A creak on the stairs made him look up and he saw Ron standing there, watching him curiously.

“Mum’s heading into Diagon Alley and asked for your school list,” Ron said. “You know, since you can’t go and be mobbed. She said something about your Firebolt too?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, jumping off the bed and giving him the list and fetching the broomstick from the corner. “The Bludger from Hansen skimmed the end of the handle and damaged it a bit. Not enough to really affect it, but, you know, it looks bad, and my kit can’t fix it. Dash mentioned Quality Quidditch Supplies do a good repair service.”

Ron nodded, taking it from him. “I’ll tell Mum to keep it quiet. If anyone in Diagon Alley finds out she’s carrying the Firebolt that won the match, she’s the one that’ll get mobbed.”

Harry forced a smile and sat back down on the bed, expecting Ron to leave, but he lingered, looking uncertain.

“You okay?” he asked. “You seem a bit … off.”

“Fine,” Harry said dully. It was his automatic response now. One of the many lies he told every day.

“Listen, no one’s going to really believe all this stuff with Turner,” Ron said, inching a little closer. “No one important anyway. You’re the hero of the match. They’ll all be too excited to ask you about the game to worry about whether you’re, you know, gay or not.”

Harry winced, as he always did when he heard the ‘g’ word, especially coming from Ron’s mouth. “Yeah, s’pose so.”

“And you know, you’re Quidditch Captain as well this year,” Ron went on, a little awkwardly. “That’s got to be good, right? Everyone will be scared to play us now. No one’s going to care what rumours there are.”

“Like they didn’t care about the rumours about me being a criminal maniac lying about Voldemort?” Harry asked bitterly. The thought of Quidditch, even as Captain was not as exciting without Evan being there too. “Or that Hermione was playing me and Krum off against each other? Or that I was the Heir of Slytherin, or that I put my name in the Goblet of Fire? Ron, you know as well as I do what’s going to happen when we get back. I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

“They’ll forget eventually, just like all the other stuff,” Ron said. “You just have to prove them wrong. Get a girlfriend or something and they’ll stop believing it.”

_Get a girlfriend_. The idea felt wrong even just as a thought. There were no girls at Hogwarts he wanted as much as he wanted Evan. They’d fawn over him like he was a celebrity. Evan had never done that.

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging. “If any’ll look at me.”

“You’re the Chosen One _and_ a European Champion. You’ll find one no problem.” Ron smiled hopefully, but he still did not appear comfortable. He kept glancing at Harry side on.

“Listen,” he said, shifting from foot to foot, looking anywhere but at him, “I know we were all joking and stuff before, but … is there really nothing to this? Like, did you get drunk and fool around with him or something?”

Harry’s heart constricted painfully. For one wild moment, he thought about telling Ron the truth, that there _was_ something to this, and he hadn’t needed to be drunk for it to happen. This was the perfect opportunity, wasn’t it?

But the very fact that Ron couldn’t make eye contact with him killed that thought stone dead. It was plainly obvious Ron didn’t want a gay friend, or a bisexual one, or whatever the hell he was.

“Nothing happened,” Harry said, telling the second most common lie he told these days. “Honest.”

Ron looked happier, and soon left to go to his mother. Harry lay back on the bed, fingers running across the two bracelets on his wrist.

He felt as miserable as he had all summer before Fowler had come to take him away.

* * *

Before Harry knew it, it was the morning of the first of September and he was in a Ministry car with the others driving off to King’s Cross station. They’d waved goodbye to Fleur at the Burrow, but Bill, Fred, George and Lupin had come along to see them all off, squashing into the backseats of the usually quite spacious vehicles. Harry was pleased there was so many of them; it meant there was less chance of his dark mood being noticed.

His stomach had been aching for the last two days, filled with utter dread at facing the rest of the school, but also at knowing that once he was back at school, it would be impossible to meet up with Evan again. He hadn’t yet found the courage, or the right words, to try and write a letter to him, and as the days had worn on, he’d come to think Evan wouldn’t have welcomed one anyway. Surely, he’d have sent one? Or perhaps was he just as awkward as Harry was about the whole thing?

Either way, the summer was now undeniably at an end, and Harry had never been more miserable at going back to school. When they entered London and passed by the hotel where Harry and Evan had spent that night together, he looked away, hoping no one else in the car would notice his blush.

Upon reaching the station, there were several Aurors there to greet them, including Kingsley, and Harry suddenly realised why so many of the household had asked to come and say goodbye on the platform as he saw a large crowd of people outside the station, waiting excitedly.

“Put on your Invisibility Cloak, Harry,” Lupin told him, before they left the car. He was watching the crowd closely. “We were warned about this. The public aren’t allowed on the platform itself unless they’re accompanying a child, but they can wait outside to see you.”

Harry did as he was asked, not remotely happy at this display of his increased celebrity. He wondered how many people gathered outside the station were here to see him because of the match or to try and find out if the rumours were true.

They walked into the station surrounded by the Aurors, and the crowd surged forwards at seeing this security force, as well as the Weasley family who were known to be his friends, but fell back disappointed when Harry himself was invisible. The passing Muggles looked bewildered, and he noticed a few stopping to peer through the Aurors, perhaps hoping to recognise someone famous, but getting confused when all they saw were red-headed children with trunks and owls.

The journey onto the platform was smooth enough, but Harry did not remove the Cloak straight away. The platform itself was busier than normal, as it appeared entire extended families had come to drop off their distant nieces and nephews in a hope of seeing the Chosen One, the famous Seeker. They were to be disappointed however, as Aurors were moving up and down the platform, ejecting all those outside of immediate family, getting children onto the train as quickly as possible, and getting family members to step back behind a yellow line to wave to their children and keep the path clear. The Weasleys moved up to the very end of the train, and as they did so, faces and noses were pressed up against the windows of the compartments as students recognised Ron and Hermione and saw a trolley with a snowy owl pushing itself. Harry felt his stomach-ache growing. _How am I to last a year of this?_

“Dumbledore’s agreed to reserve the rear compartment for you,” Mr Weasley said, speaking vaguely in the direction of Harry’s head. The guard on the train won’t let anyone past a certain point so you don’t have to worry about anyone bothering you. Just until all the match hysteria dies down.”

Harry nodded, forgetting he was invisible. He was beginning to wonder if he’d not just have been better off just signing up for a professional team after all. He also didn’t think the people staring were only trying to get a glimpse because of the match.

At the very end of the train, he finally took the Invisibility Cloak off, causing a ripple of excitement up and down the platform. The Aurors turned to face the crowd, staring them down and daring any to try and rush him.

Mrs Weasley was doing her usual goodbyes, kissing and hugging her children, Harry and Hermione included, making them all promise to behave and write home often. Harry was completely zoning all this out, eager just to get onboard and enjoy the privacy of the compartment for the next several hours, when he heard a huge swell of muttering and shouts of surprise emanating from down the platform.

Harry turned, and saw that many Hogwarts students had stuck their heads out of the windows, staring at a point further down. When the crowd cleared a little, Harry was able to see what they were looking at, and his heart almost stopped.

Evan was there, walking straight towards him.

It was as if he’d been struck by lightning. Harry could not move, could not breathe. His heart went into overdrive. _What is he doing here?_

Evan didn’t seem to care about the press of people around him trying to get close, his eyes were directly on Harry, and Harry could have wept with how much he’d missed those eyes, that face. But it was not the smiling face he had come to love, but the indifferent one he usually assumed in public. What did that mean—that he was angry with him? Harry’s mind was a muddle of so many conflicting thoughts and theories he felt dizzy.

One of the Aurors attempted to stop him as he drew near, but Kingsley laid a hand on his arm, and let him past. Evan stopped just before Harry, an agonisingly large gap between them. He did not even look at the large crowd of Weasleys and others surrounding him, all of whom were staring at him. Ron’s eyes were just about popping out of his skull.

“Harry, can I have a word?”

His voice was curt, not the usual friendly tone he had always reserved for Harry, and the ache inside him began anew.

“Uh,” he said, frantically trying to think of something to say. He was conscious of the now hundreds of people who were staring at them. “I—I … I need to get on the train …”

“You have a few minutes, Harry,” Lupin said behind him. He laid a hand in the small of Harry’s back. “It won’t leave without you.”

Harry knew what he was doing; trying to push Harry into finally having the discussion with Evan that he’d been avoiding. But how could he? How could he do that when there were so many people around, when Ron was looking at him like that, when he was so jittery he could not think straight?

“Please,” Evan said, and there was a passing shadow in his eyes as he looked at Harry. “I need to talk to you.”

Feeling like he would rather be doing anything else, even though this was exactly what he’d been wishing for all summer, he nodded. Evan finally seemed to notice the people around them.

“In private?”

“The alcove over there, Harry,” Kingsley said, pointing it out.

Harry nodded, and followed Evan over there, feeling everyone’s eyes on his back as he went, praying his legs did not betray how weak he’d suddenly become in the knees. The arched alcove was not entirely private, but it did at least screen them from the majority of the train and take them out of earshot, though, Harry noticed, the Weasleys and Hemione were still able to see them. Lupin and Kingsley seemed to be trying to engage them all in conversation but were failing miserably.

Harry turned back to Evan, trying to construct a mask of indifference similar to his own, attempting to hide the tumultuous feelings inside him from the others, but knew he’d had no success. His mouth had gone very dry.

“Are you alright?” Evan asked straight away, and his own mask slipped a little. “After that story broke, I couldn’t stop worrying about you. I had to come and see you before you go.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said abruptly, though the thought Evan had been thinking about him apparently rather pleasantly rather than hating him was a welcome one. “Sorry, by the way … it … can’t be pleasant for you …”

“I don’t care,” Evan said, frowning slightly, as though confused. “Why should I?”

“Because everyone knows,” Harry said, lowering his voice as low as he could, trying to keep his expression neutral. “It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

“So?” Evan looked genuinely bewildered. “And it’s not like they know everything anyway.”

“They know enough.”

Harry could see the few students who were visible craning their necks to have a look at them. He felt like he’d be sick. He focused his eyes on the wall behind Evan’s shoulder, breathing as deeply as he could and his face as blank as possible.

“That bothers you?” Evan’s voice almost sounded hurt, and Harry maintained his mask with difficulty.

“It doesn’t bother you?” he asked incredulously. “How can it not? Aren’t you embarrassed?”

He desperately wanted Evan to say yes, to agree and make him feel better for his own failings, but Evan did not.

“Embarrassed?” he asked, and Harry was brought straight back to that night when Evan had been incredulous that Harry had been embarrassed by running into Cho. “Why should I be? I don’t get embarrassed. I’ve lived away from others too long for that, Harry. I might not always say the right thing, or be comfortable in conversation with strangers, but that’s out of worry of offending someone, or because I don’t understand or know what to say. I never care what people think of me.”

“Well, I’m not like that,” Harry said, wishing desperately that he was, that he didn’t currently have the urge to dive under the Cloak and escape the eyes which were like ants on his skin. “And you wouldn’t be either if you’d had to put up with being famous since you were a year old. I’m not comfortable with everyone knowing. What do you want me to say?”

His body was entirely rigid now, and he held himself as straight as he could. He didn’t dare turn and see what the Weasleys were doing. He was concentrating entirely on not falling apart, or worse, throwing himself into Evan’s arms in front of everyone.

Evan paused for a moment. “You’re ashamed,” he said, and this time there was a definite note of hurt. “You’re ashamed of me, of what we did. You regret it.”

“No,” Harry said, voice almost breaking with the emotion as panic stirred into life within him. “Not that. I don’t regret it. It’s not like that.”

“Then why can’t you even look at me?”

Harry breathed in deeply, and brought his eyes to Evan’s, wishing immediately that he hadn’t. Gone was Evan’s indifference, he looked again like that emotional boy in the clearing who had shed a tear as he’d told Harry one of his darkest secrets. Harry felt his resolve breaking.

“Why would you be embarrassed about something that was so good?” Evan asked gently, his eyes shining. “Or was it just me that enjoyed it?”

“Definitely not,” Harry said, his expression softening. How could he let Evan think that when he’d so effectively changed Harry’s entire world? “I’ve never enjoyed anything more.”

Evan’s lips twitched into a smile. “Then what’s the problem?”

What _was_ the problem? Harry couldn’t think right now. Evan was so close, smiling at him in that amazing way. Why was his mind so determined to stop him following what his heart so desperately wanted? The pain inside grew worse. The eyes kept staring.

“You coming here’s just made things worse,” he said, hating himself. “People are going to gossip worse than ever, and I can’t take that. Not with all the other stuff too. I’m sick of it. After last year, I don’t think I can handle any more. I – I don’t think I’m the right sort of person to do this.”

Evan’s smile dropped. He blinked a couple of times and frowned. “That isn’t you,” he said softly. “You’re not a coward. You stood up to the Ministry, you didn’t let them get you down, no matter what they wrote.”

His eyes dropped, and he licked his lips nervously. “I like you, Harry,” he said, swallowing. “I really like you. I can’t help it, and I’m not ashamed of it. I want to see where things go. And I think you feel the same.” He reached his hand up and briefly touched Harry’s wrist. “You’re still wearing the bracelet.”

Harry glanced down at it, twitching the wrist wearing the grass bracelet out of sight before he could allow the touch of Evan’s skin to incapacitate him. “I can’t,” he said, speaking though the lump in his throat. “I—I’m—”

“Scared?” Evan’s voice grew harder. “I’m scared too, you know. This is new to me as well, remember? I’m scared even being here. You didn’t write, didn’t give me anything, and so I’ve forced myself to come here on a platform heaving with people, sending my anxiety through the roof to come tell you what I feel and you’re just going to dismiss me? I thought you said Gryffindors were brave?”

Harry felt a sudden spike of anger.

“What do you know about Gryffindors?” he snapped. “You don’t even go to Hogwarts. How could this work anyway if I’m there and you’re not? You can’t just force a decision like this on me right now.”

“You had all summer to think about it,” Evan said, now also angry. “We could’ve met up at any point to discuss it. You didn’t give me a choice.”

“You could’ve written too, you know,” Harry pointed out. Being angry with Evan felt wrong, like there was something wriggling in his stomach. “If you’re the one so comfortable with it all, why didn’t you?”

“I’m not the one in denial,” Evan said, shaking his head. “I was giving you space, like I did after you ran away when we first kissed.” He glanced towards the watching Weasleys. “You haven’t even told them, have you? Your friends? Are you that disgusted with yourself?”

“I don’t need you judging me as well,” Harry said, scowling. “Or telling me what my life should be. I get enough of that from everyone else.”

Then, before he could change his mind and break down completely and beg his forgiveness, Harry pushed past him and strode towards the train, blood pumping in his ears, heart in his mouth. He walked straight through the Weasleys, who were gaping at them and seized his trunk and Hedwig, climbing on board faster than he ever had done before, not stopping until he had dragged everything into the compartment, shoved his trunk and cage into the rack and thrown himself into a corner, sitting back so that he could not see out the window.

It was taking everything inside him not to crawl up into a ball and weep. Harry had known pain—the Cruciatus Curse, being possessed by Voldemort … but this was worse somehow. This seemed to be destroying him from the inside, chasing away all thoughts he’d ever had of happiness.

The whistles started to sound, and the hissing of steam increased. Harry sat staring wretchedly at the floor as he heard the sounds of the others dragging their trunks along the corridor and into the compartment. He did not look up as they sat down and the train began to move slowly out the station. He could not even look up for one last look at Evan as he went steaming away from him forever. Harry could not have withstood seeing the look on his face, whatever it was.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

Harry breathed deeply through his nose, unclenching his jaw to answer.

“Don’t you and Hermione have to go to the Prefect’s carriage?”

“Not till we get an answer. What was all that about?”

Harry forced himself to look up, seeing Hermione, Ron and Ginny all staring at him.

“He wanted to talk about the article,” he said, surprised at how calm his voice seemed. “Find out if I knew who’d been making stuff up and see if we wanted to issue a statement or something.”

“Then why’d it get so angry at the end?” Ginny was frowning. “Why do you look like a troll with toothache?”

Harry shrugged, folding his arms. “We had a disagreement about how to handle it.”

“Like what?” Hermione looked concerned. “Harry, that looked—”

“It was nothing, all right?” Harry snapped. “Why are you all so obsessed with this?”

“Because it didn’t look like nothing,” Ginny said fiercely. “In fact, it looked pretty serious. Harry … for a guy that usually looks like a blank piece of parchment, he really was looking at you weird. Does he … does he fancy you or something?”

Harry flinched badly before he could stop himself, and Ron gawped at him.

“He _does?_ ” he asked dumbfoundedly. “Is that where the rumours came from then?”

“Maybe,” Harry grunted, staring at the floor again. “How do I know?”

“This makes sense now,” Ron said, hitting his hand off his head. “It’s so obvious. Well, don’t worry, mate. It won’t make the rumours any worse. It’s not like he showed up to give you a kiss goodbye or anything. Might do you a favour actually. Everyone saw you telling him where to go.”

Is that what it had looked like? Harry fought the ever increasing pain as he thought of this. Him forcibly rejecting someone’s heartfelt declarations?

_Yes, because that’s exactly what you did_.

To stop himself from almost crying again, he shifted in his seat and sighed. He vividly remembered Fowler’s words, the first day they went to Ireland: _The media’s seldom your friend._ How true that was.

“I hate the _Daily Prophet_ ,” he spat. “The one friendship I made outside of school and they’ve completely ruined it.”

“You’re well shot of him, mate,” Ron said, leaning back in his chair. “If he’s got some sort of crush on you, it’ll only make things worse. Weird, though—you’d never expect a bloke like that to fancy someone at all. One of those odd loner types. Pity, he’s such a good Keeper.”

Harry took to staring out of the window and watching Muggle London speed past as Ron kept giving his opinion on Evan and why it was a good thing he didn’t go to Hogwarts, unaware that every word was making Harry feel worse and worse until he thought he might finally snap and descend into a blubbering mess in front of everyone.

Finally, he and Hermione headed off to the Prefect’s compartment, and Harry was left with Ginny. He could not look at her, still going over and over that terrible conversation, the first interaction he’d ever had with Evan that had been anything other than wonderful.

Why, _why_ , had he had to come to the platform like that? Why corner him in public and force him to make a decision on the spot? Harry had been too overwhelmed to think clearly, to say everything he had wanted to. If it had been in private, perhaps it would have ended differently. They could have talked it out, no time limits, no hundreds of students looking on. Things could have moved gradually; Lupin had said there was no rush to figure things out after all.

Evan liked him— _really_ liked him! And Harry felt the same way. Evan was right that he was being a coward. He cared more about keeping his name out of the papers than pursuing something which genuinely made him happy. Chosen One rumours, sudden Quidditch fame and questions about his sexuality … it was all too much at once. Why couldn’t Evan understand that? Hadn’t Harry told him before how much pressure he was always under? And that was before adding all the stuff with Sirius and the prophecy.

He’d made a huge mistake, and he knew it. Evan was right—he should have written. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to fret about it so long. After Lupin’s conversation with him he should have written, embarrassed or not. Then perhaps he wouldn’t have parted from Evan with such misery filling his heart. He might even now have a boyfriend …

Harry closed his eyes and remembered all their times together, the way Evan had made him feel. _If you like him enough, he’ll be worth all the rumours in the world_. That’s what Lupin had said. Evan _was_ worth it. And Harry had just let him get away.

“Is it true, Harry?”

He snapped his head around to Ginny. It appeared she had been watching him for several minutes. Her voice was gentle, but her eyes were wide.

“No,” he said flatly, leaning back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

Not now at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate making my babies sad 😭 But as I said, things get better. This definitely isn't the end for these two! Harry's being his usual overly dramatic self and thinking the worst.


	27. Back at School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone's comments! So many people either want to slap Harry or Ron, or both, which is fair enough I suppose 😂 As I said in an earlier note, Harry makes some poor choices for a while, and Ron can be an insensitive wart, as Hermione would say. Still, plenty of chapters to turn all that around 😉
> 
> TW for some homophobic language (from Malfoy, who else?). There aren’t many instances of that in this fic but I’ll always flag it at the start of a chapter. 
> 
> Also, in this and future chapters, some lines of dialogue have been either directly lifted from Half Blood Prince, paraphrased or altered/extended in some way. I’ll let you know which chapters those are. I’ve tried not to use too much direct quotation but sometimes it’s unavoidable when covering canon events.

The journey to Hogwarts was largely uninteresting, mostly because Harry stared out the window the whole time and ignored everything around him. Ginny had given up on talking to him after the first half an hour and just sat reading a magazine. He could tell she’d much rather be off meeting one of her friends, or her boyfriend, Dean, but for some reason she stuck around. Ron and Hermione eventually came back, and when they sat down, faces determinedly blank, Harry was intrigued.

“Well, what’s everyone saying?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“Nothing,” Ron said, entirely unconvincingly, turning his attention to some Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. When Harry kept staring at him, he sighed. “Look, it’s mostly all about the match, or the stuff at the Ministry.”

“But not all of it?”

Ron exchanged a look with Hermione. She looked incredibly tense. Harry slumped back in his seat. “They all believe it, right?”

“No,” Hermione said, without much conviction. They’re just … curious.”

“We denied it all, mate, don’t worry,” Ron said, through a mouth of beans. “People kept yelling questions at us, but we just said we wouldn’t talk about the Ministry and that you and Turner were just teammates.”

“Did they believe you?”

Ron made a face. “Not really. But it’ll all die down soon. It’s just a lot of stuff all at once. The Chosen One stuff, winning the Championship … you maybe being gay on top of all that is a gossip’s dream.”

“ _Ron,”_ Hermione frowned. “Don’t be insensitive.”

“What?” Ron stared at her. “He’s not, is he? It’s just all the usual rubbish that gets said about him. Everyone knows now he wasn’t the Heir of Slytherin and he wasn’t lying about You-Know-Who, and they’ll stop believing this as well after a while.”

Harry didn’t say anything. It had been pretty much as he had expected. He was really not looking forward to arriving back at school. He was just glad there was no one filing up and down outside the compartment trying to get a look at him. He listened without really taking anything in as Ron and Hermione discussed the rest of the things they’d noticed, passing on some friendly words from Luna and Neville who were sharing a compartment, and speculating about why Malfoy was not out using his Prefect powers to bully first years. Harry couldn’t say he was too interested; Malfoy would certainly be using them sometime soon to torture Harry with cruel jibes he’d probably been thinking up ever since his father was arrested. Ron and Hermione had told him they’d spotted him during the summer when they were buying their school things, sneaking off in the direction of Knockturn Alley. Perhaps he was interesting himself in darker things now than Prefect duties, spurred on by his father’s arrest.

After a while, the guard showed up with a letter from Harry. When he read it, he groaned.

“That new professor wants to meet me,” he said. “For a ‘bite of lunch’. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“There’s no way you could get all the way to Compartment C without being seen,” Hermione said, reading the note after him. “It’s too busy for the Cloak. Write a note back and I’ll take it down to him for you if you don’t want to go.”

Harry did so, scribbling something about not being allowed due to security, and she vanished, returning about five minutes later.

“He’s pretty odd,” she said as she sat back down. “Gathering a whole bunch of students around him like that.”

“He likes collecting kids with contacts or prospects,” Harry said glumly, thinking back to the portly man he’d met a few weeks ago who had almost collapsed at the sight of him in his house.

“And you’d be the prize bull,” Hermione said, wrinkling her nose with distaste. “He wasn’t pleased you weren’t coming. Kept questioning me about whether I was related to some famous Granger who founded a potion society when I introduced myself. A bit disappointed when I said I was Muggle-Born, but then he seemed happier when he remembered you mentioning that I was the best in our year at Potions and he got more interested. Did you _really_ say that?”

“Well, I would’ve as well,” Ron said, looking a bit disgruntled. “It’s true.”

They talked a little longer about the other students Hermione had seen in the compartment, with Harry fervently hoping Neville was there due to his exploits at the Ministry and not because of his parents. He thought miserably about Neville for a while. Their destinies could so easily have been switched had Voldemort chosen him instead of Harry to go after. It could have been Neville sitting here with a scar and the crushing burden of a prophecy, while Harry could have been enjoying his new Quidditch fame, perhaps even having just said goodbye to Evan at the station with a mind-numbing kiss rather than an agonising argument.

The scenery outside grew wilder as time went on, and as the sky began darkening, they changed into their robes and soon the train was beginning to slow down. Harry’s stomach-ache had started again. He’d been able to hide so far, but now he was going to have to get right back into the thick of things.

When they pulled up at the station, they waited until most people had gotten off before descending to the platform, but even this caused a stir as those nearest surged forwards to talk to him.

“Stand back!” Harry was suddenly aware of Tonks’s voice and soon saw her coming towards him, not looking like her usual colourful self for a change. She managed a grin at him though. “Amazing work, Harry,” she said, winking. “I was on-duty during the match, but Kingsley said you were incredible.”

“Thanks,” he said, shrugging, only the smallest of smiles on his lips. Despite all his other problems, he still did enjoy receiving some genuine praise from someone who meant it.

Tonks explained about the new security measures at Hogwarts and how she was now stationed at Hogsmeade as she escorted them towards the carriages, putting off anyone who dared come closer by lifting her wand threateningly. She packed them into a carriage and sent them on their way. Harry stared out the window, watching as Hogwarts drew nearer. Just why was this sight not making him as happy as it usually did?

They pulled up outside the front doors, and Harry and the others quickly walked up to them; Harry hoping the faster they moved the less stares there would be. Unfortunately, the Entrance Hall was mobbed and most people seemed to be hanging around to try and see him, and they were prevented from moving quickly by Filch passing Secrecy Sensors over them all. As he passed through the doors, several people started cheering and applauding, sending waves of heat radiating from Harry’s face.

“Oh, look! It’s Poofter Potter!”

Ice cold weight settled into Harry’s stomach as he heard Malfoy’s voice. The sight of his sneering face a moment later sent that iciness shooting through his veins.

“Didn’t think you’d really show up,” Malfoy laughed. “Don’t think we’ve got the right _attractions_ for you. Then again, I suppose you’re dying to get back to the boys’ dormitories.”

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Ron growled at his side, hand twitching to his wand. Harry himself couldn’t say anything. He felt nauseated.

Malfoy’s mocking eyes turned on him next. “Well, at least we know now why you’re always clinging to him so pathetically, Weasley. Hoping for a piece of him too?”

“You’re just jealous,” Ron’s face had gone beetroot red. “How many European Championships is it you’ve won now, Malfoy?”

“I’m perfectly fine with none, thanks,” Malfoy said, still smirking, though his cheeks had tinged pink. “Not if it means I have to start taking it up the arse—”

Harry had whipped out his wand, hand shaking as the iciness turned into cold fury.

“Say that again, Malfoy, I dare you,” he said, not caring just how many witnesses there were. “At least my name’s in the paper for doing something cool and not cause my dad got arrested.”

Malfoy’s face turned pinker and he drew his own wand to point it at Harry. “My dad’ll be out before you know it, Potter, but you’ll still be a freak of nature—”

“Enough!”

Snape had swept through the crowd of students and was glowering down at both boys, though focusing particularly on Harry.

“Glory during the summer still not enough for you, Potter?” he asked, lip curling. “Both of you, put those wands away and get inside before I change my mind. I don’t think any House has ever started the year in negative points before. Don’t make Gryffindor and Slytherin the first.”

Both of them stowed their wands away, glaring at each other. Malfoy swept into the hall with his Slytherin friends, all of whom were laughing while looking at Harry. Snape fixed his cold eyes on Harry.

“Not like the gods to condescend to mix with us mere mortals now, is it?” he said softly. “Don’t let your big head get you carried away, Potter. While you’re in school, you’re no Quidditch Champion, just another mediocre student. Do not forget that.”

He turned and left, leaving Harry struggling not to shout after him. Ron and Hermione started pulling him towards the hall.

“Don’t mind them,” Ron said gruffly, “they’re evil gits anyway.”

“You can rise above it, Harry,” Hermione said, though she looked angry. “Don’t let them ruin this for you. You did something amazing. You’re allowed to be proud of it.”

But Harry couldn’t be, not after Malfoy’s comments had left him feeling so exposed. It had made what Evan and he had sound so sordid, made him feel so dirty. Evan’s hurt face back at King’s Cross asking Harry why he was ashamed of what they had was filling his mind. He wasn’t ashamed, was he? But then why had Malfoy’s comments gotten to him so much?

In the Great Hall, people were falling all over themselves to get a look at Harry as he passed them on the way to the Gryffindor table, people actually standing on their chairs to do so. The whispering and chatting had risen to almost deafening proportions. As he sat down at the Gryffindor table, all those in the vicinity began clapping and whooping, and several people came up to shake his hand, clap him on the back and congratulate him. Harry fixed a smile on his face and said the word ‘thanks’ so many times the word started to sound meaningless.

Harry glanced up at the staff table and saw everyone there, including the new professor, also looking towards him eagerly—with the notable exception of Snape. Hagrid was waving enthusiastically, and Professor McGonagall, who had just arrived with the first years, was actually _smiling_ at him. He looked away. This was going to be a really strange year.

He drowned out the noise of the Sorting Hat’s song and the Sorting itself, still trying to sort out the painful swirling in his stomach. _Poofter Potter …_

Even the Feast didn’t do much to lift his spirits, though Ron certainly seemed to have forgotten all about it, diving in as eagerly as he always did. But then, he didn’t know the truth, didn’t know just how much that had hurt Harry. That word … it made everything which had seemed so beautiful in the summer so ugly. How much worse would be the insults be when people discovered it was definitely true? How would Ron react then? Would he still defend him?

Surrounded by Ron, Hermione and Ginny, he didn’t have much chance to make conversation with the others at the table, though Neville, who was sitting across the table filled them in on Slughorn and his ‘Slug Club’ making Harry very grateful he had not gone. Mercifully, Neville did not seem put off by Harry at all, and merely sat there grinning and congratulating him and asking him for some details of the match, which Harry was able to give without too much trouble. Others were leaning in trying to listen, but Harry ignored them. With all the teachers watching, they couldn’t exactly hound him, but he dreaded what would happen in the corridors when they weren’t watching. He’d already noticed the eyes of dozens of admiring girls batting their eyelashes at him. Despite Ron’s advice to get a girlfriend to shake the rumours off, he knew he couldn’t. Evan was the only one he wanted, and if he couldn’t have him, he’d rather be alone than try and pretend with someone else.

Eventually, Dumbledore stood up for his usual speech, causing many gasps as people saw his withered right hand, but he brushed these aside.

“The very best of evenings to you!” he said, smiling. “Now … to our new students, welcome; to our old students, welcome back! I hope you have all had an excellent summer. I know some of us have had a more interesting summer than usual—” he paused as he nodded towards Harry, and had to wait as another wave of applause and cheering from most of the students and teachers— even some Slytherins—surged and then died away “—but I am certain you _all_ have a year full of exciting magical education ahead of you ...”

Harry had gone bright red at this and stared down at his plate for the rest of Dumbledore’s speech, barely even looking up in surprise when he informed them of Snape becoming Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He was longing for his bed, and the chance to sort through his thoughts privately.

The feast ended and Harry hung back with Ron as Hermione went forwards to escort the first years, hoping to avoid the huge crowd of people, but most of them also seemed to want to hang back and shake his hand. Harry was feeling worse and worse. While he might have enjoyed it a little if he knew all they wanted to talk about was the match, he knew most of them were also wanting to ask him about the Ministry and his relationship with Evan.

“All of you, to your common rooms— _now!”_ Professor McGonagall had swept forwards and shooed them all away, most muttering rebelliously. After they’d started to leave, she turned back to Harry and Ron who were still hanging back.

“I’m afraid you shall have to get used to this, Potter,” she said, though she was smiling. “I can hardly blame them, however. You flew _splendidly_ at the match. You’ve come a long way since I first saw you messing around on that broom when Madam Hooch wasn’t looking. I am extremely proud.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said, blushing furiously, but still pleased at her words; he knew he’d probably not have ended up where he was now if not for her putting him on the team in the first place instead of giving him detention. And of course, buying him his first broomstick.

“Replicate that performance this year in the Inter-House Cup and I shall forgive you for the heart attack you almost gave me when you did that Wronksi Feint. Now, off you go upstairs.” She was still smiling. “I expect they’ll be waiting for you. Please try and prevent them from questioning you all night. There is a full day of classes tomorrow, after all.”

They bid her goodnight and did as she asked. Predictably, as soon as Harry entered the common room, there were yet more cheers and an excited mass of people clamouring to talk to him and congratulate him.

“You’d think I’d saved the planet from a meteor or something,” Harry complained to Ron as they finally managed to extricate themselves and head up to the dormitory. “Towed it away on my Firebolt.”

“When it comes to Quidditch, that’s exactly what it’s like,” Ron chuckled. “Hermione could’ve solved the mysteries of the universe over the summer and get less attention. But it’s just you, innit? You were already famous, and now you’re an even more major celebrity.”

Harry wasn’t sure he liked that word: _celebrity_. Still, he had to admit Ron was right. He had asked for this after all when he’d agreed to play in the first place. The consequences of the resulting fame and hero worship had just seemed so far away back then. Fowler had told him he’d have to get used to it. He shouldn’t be surprised.

Up in the dormitory they were met with Dean, Seamus and Neville, who were also eager to talk to him, which Harry found much more manageable. He noticed that they’d all put up memorabilia from the match; team posters, individual shots of Emmy blowing kisses (which Harry now found extremely awkward now that he knew her), their Potter rosettes and even a couple of miniature figures of the players, including Harry himself. This was _really_ getting weird.

“Were you all at the game?” Harry asked, choosing to pretend he hadn’t seen Dean and Seamus under the Cloak with Evan.

“Yeah, me mam got tickets for me and Dean,” Seamus said. “The match wasn’t too far away from our house. It was so cool.”

“My grandmother wasn’t going to go originally,” Neville said, beaming. “Said these things are too overblown and a waste of money. But when she found out you were playing she bought me tickets for my birthday. Expensive too since it was so last minute. We had a great view.”

They all sat on their beds for a while talking about the finer points of the match, Harry going over the same things he had with the Weasleys over the summer yet again, actually enjoying it as he met with a new impressed and keen audience. That is, until the next inevitable question came up.

“What’s all this about you and that Turner bloke?” Dean asked eventually. “Is it true? Cause when I saw you two at the signing you didn’t look all that friendly. In fact, he looked bored of it all.”

Harry prevented himself from reacting with difficulty. “Course it’s not true,” he said, the lie sounding even worse in his mouth now after the disaster of this morning. “We were just mates. Got pretty boring in that Lodge when we weren’t training. He livens up a bit when you get to know him.”

“So, you two didn’t get drunk and start snogging in the gardens?” Seamus asked innocently.

Harry froze in a blind panic. His heart leapt into his mouth.

“ _What?”_ he asked, a second later, aware his voice had gone higher, and hoped it would be passed off as indignant rather than panicked. “Who’s saying that?”

“The Irish Auror who was one of the guards,” Seamus said shrugging, but looking highly amused at Harry’s reaction. “Niall. He’s a cousin of a cousin. Said he saw the two of you.”

Ron looked sharply at Harry at this, but Harry was laughing, because he didn’t know what else to do.

“Well, that’s impossible,” he said, toning down his hysteria as best he could. “For one thing, Emmy had Transfigured him into a pig for chatting her up. He was in no condition to see or remember anything _._ Second, I was throwing up half a bottle of Firewhisky in the gardens. _No one’s_ lips were going anywhere near mine!”

“He never told me that!” Seamus cackled. “Makes sense though. He’s always been a bit of perv. I told him it was all rubbish.”

Harry laughed too, trying to act as though he found the full thing hilarious. Inside, alarm bells were going off. They _had_ been seen. But why hadn’t Kane told the _Prophet_ this when he’d told them the other stuff? Was he unsure? Had he made it up afterwards? Human Transfigurations into animals _did_ leave you almost entirely unable to remember what had happened while you were an animal. Was he just blagging to impress people? Kingsley had said he’d gotten into trouble for the interview, so maybe he was just saying it now out of spite, or to save face to his family. If he kept doing that, word would spread …

“I was gutted when we couldn’t get over for the signing in Diagon Alley,” Seamus said grumpily. He looked wistfully at the wall beside his bed, and the flirtatious photo of Emmy. “I’d’ve loved to see them all up close. Get some autographs. Dean’s not stopped showing his off.”

Seeing an opportunity to change the subject, Harry jumped out of bed and rummaged through his trunk, grabbing something and handing it out to him. “Good job I got you these then.”

“Thanks, Harry! You’re the best!” Seamus cried, eagerly taking the signed photos Harry was handing over. He looked through them excitedly. “Wait, there isn’t one of you!”

“You _know_ me,” Harry said bemusedly, as Ron roared with laughter.

“Come on! I want the full team!” Seamus said, Dean and Neville also laughing, though they too had also gotten signed photos of him at Flourish and Blotts. “How am I supposed to sell these as a collector’s set in thirty years’ time to pay for a new broom when there’s one missing?”

“Fine,” Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. He searched through the pile of memorabilia he had in his trunk and found one of the spares from the signing. He scrawled his name across the bottom corner and shoved it at him. “This is just weird.”

They talked for a while longer before climbing into bed, all the boys looking happily at their signed photos or new posters, while Harry fell back on his pillows and tried not to allow the sinking feeling to overcome him. _Be happy about this_ , he told himself, _they all think you’re so cool. They believe you about Evan_.

But that thought wasn’t even remotely comforting. He didn’t want to lie about this. But what was the point in being honest now? It was all over, every possible hope he’d had for a future with Evan had come crashing down when Harry had so cruelly rejected him.

Yet, every word seemed like a personal attack against Evan, and Evan didn’t deserve that. He’d already hurt him so much already.

_I like you, Harry. I really like you … I want to see where this goes …_

“Hey, Harry?” Ron’s voice whispered from the next bed, when it sounded like the others were finally asleep.

Harry twitched open his curtains to look at him across the moonlit dormitory. Ron was frowning.

“What Seamus’s cousin said about—”

“How many times, Ron?” he asked, glad it was too dark for Ron to see him properly. “Nothing happened. Kane was the one who spoke to the _Prophet_ —he’s making things up because he and Fowler had a falling out when they were young. Don’t you believe me?”

There was perhaps only a split-second pause, but for Harry it seemed like an eternity.

“Course I do, if you say it didn’t happen. Just worried in case that gets out and makes things worse for you.”

Harry lay back in bed, but did not feel any calmer. In fact, he felt worse than he had all day.

* * *

Harry’s first week passed almost without incident. In fact, aside from the screaming girls who sometimes mobbed him in the corridors, the people who tailed him to every class, the dozens of photos he was asked to sign every day, and of course the huge amount of gossiping and staring and whispering behind hands that he was subject to … it’d be an entirely normal first week back at school. He went to his classes, argued with Snape, got a detention, got stressed about homework—everything he always did. Only the fact that he won a competition in Potions by reading some strange instructions in an old Potions textbook was really surprising.

Ron and Hermione were at his side every day, Ron glowering at anyone who dared try and do anything other than say a quick congratulations and move on, actually using a Shield Charm one day when a group of fourth-year Hufflepuffs started swarming around Harry. He also had a choice swear word or two for any person who dared mention the Ministry. Or the name Turner.

Malfoy and the Slytherins glared at him as normal, though with perhaps slightly more malice than before, but most others treated him with something like awe, which was a marked change from this time last year when they’d literally run away from the sight of him. In general, most people didn’t seem to care about the rumours being true or as anything more than just something new to gossip about. Despite this, Harry was painfully aware of the sneering remarks of a few people, mostly Slytherins, asking him about Evan, as well as their mocking gestures and jeering faces. This didn’t seem to deter the girls however, who still milled around, desperately wishing he’d look their way and smile, possibly hoping that they could be the one to ‘show he was straight’.

“Just pick one and snog her in front of a few witnesses,” Ron said after some girls had just left. He had his eye on Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle who were heading down to the dungeons, prancing on the stairs, wiggling their hips and primping and preening themselves in a deliberately camp manner. “Doesn’t matter who really. That Romilda Vane would be up for it and she’s alright looking.”

But Harry would rather have kissed a Blast-Ended Skrewt. As pretty as Romilda was, she fawned over him in a way he found sickening. She had also leaned in close one time and whispered dramatically that she didn’t believe those ‘disgusting rumours’ and that he was free to ‘prove them wrong’ with her anytime he wanted.

Memories of Evan filled his dreams every night. He knew there was no one he could kiss here who could cause such feelings in him, female or male. Though he knew there was no chance now that he and Evan could ever become anything, he still could not stop pining for him as pathetically as he had over the summer. Worse even, for now he knew he had caused Evan pain at King’s Cross, and he almost could not live with himself for that.

Even the thought of the private lessons with Professor Dumbledore he was to have could not stir his curiosity too much. He arrived for his first lesson on Saturday night as gloomy as ever. Dumbledore, who was smiling pleasantly, narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Good evening, Harry. I was going to ask if you had had a pleasant first week back, but I can see that you have not. Are you not enjoying your new Quidditch fame?”

“It’s not that,” Harry muttered, growing uncomfortable under his acute gaze. “It’s just there’s a lot of people asking about—about the Ministry.”

“I see, that is a particularly troubling subject,” Dumbledore said, pressing his fingertips together. “But I do not think it is all that is being said. Are you perhaps also concerned about certain _other_ rumours being passed around?”

Harry felt very hot. He definitely didn’t want to be discussing this with Dumbledore. He nodded without looking at him.

Dumbledore sighed. “Then I am afraid the news I have for you now will be even more unpleasant.” He picked up a letter from his desk and unfolded it, frowning at it. “This letter was intercepted by our Aurors and given to me. It was addressed to you, however. It is from Helena Karlsson.”

Harry grew very still. _Karlsson?_

“What does she want with me?” Harry said, nonplussed. “She hated me.”

“Indeed, and I am afraid she has grown even less fond of you since Sweden’s defeat,” he said, dropping the letter with some distaste. “I am sorry to say it, but this letter reveals that she has intended to cause you some harm. She was evidently unaware communications were being monitored or she would not have sent it.”

When Harry just stared at him, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach, Dumbledore went on. “As you know, she attempted to use bribery to get you thrown from the England team during the summer. It seems her standards have sunk even lower. She has attempted to blackmail you about what occurred in the gardens of the Players’ Lodge in Ireland.”

The room suddenly seemed much colder. Harry’s heart was hammering, and his mouth went dry. “Nothing happened,” he said, somewhat hoarsely.

Dumbledore raised one eyebrow. He appeared genuinely sympathetic, and when he spoke again, his voice was incredibly gentle. “I have read the letter, Harry,” he said. “She makes it clear she was watching from an upper window when the rest of her team were at the party, and the way she speaks, it is as though she fully believes you will take her at her word. This suggests that she knows you will find it a plausible threat, and that she did indeed see something. Also,” here, Dumbledore looked slightly apologetically at him, “I know what _I_ saw when I entered your bedroom the morning that I came to collect you. Forgive me, but neither of you were particularly subtle.”

Harry could have crawled under his chair in mortification. He’d almost forgotten about Dumbledore coming in that morning and seeing that only Evan’s bed had been slept in, and that both of them had their shirts on inside out. He shouldn’t really be surprised Dumbledore had been able to put two and two together.

“Fortunately,” Dumbledore said, moving on swiftly, when Harry thought his cheeks could not grow any hotter, “the plot has been foiled. You do not have to give her anything, and her threat cannot be followed up on. Thanks to Tonks, who discovered the letter, she has had a hefty fine for blackmail from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and been issued a ban on contacting any media publication about the contents of the letter on danger of being sent to Azkaban.”

_So, Tonks knows as well now?_ Harry felt worse and worse. He also didn’t think Dumbledore’s assurances were worth much.

“This isn’t the end though,” he said bitterly when he was finally able to speak.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Dumbledore said. He sighed again and glanced at the ceiling of his office. “This embargo will not apply once she returns to Sweden without applying to the Swedish Ministry, which will take time, and there is nothing to stop her from talking about this with others who could then pass it on. Of course, she could be dismissed as being naturally angry at you for defeating her team, but she is a credible witness, far more so than any of the drunk partygoers who only have circumstantial facts. This is why, therefore, I have decided to let you know.”

Harry clenched his fists so tightly he thought they might bleed. Any day now, the news of his and Evan’s kiss could be all over the front of every newspaper. Life would become ten times harder when actual proof came out. How was this _fair_? Was Karlsson really still so bitter that he got put on the team she’d resort to something so petty? She certainly didn’t need any money or fame. It was pure spite.

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said, heart thumping as he tried to convince even himself of that. “People believe it either way. And it’s not like I’ll be seeing him again anyway.”

Dumbledore pursed his lips and looked at Harry for a long time over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “You never know what the future may hold, Harry,” he said softly. “Do not be so sure. You may see him sooner than you think.”

Harry barely had time to try and figure out what he had meant when Dumbledore was speaking again.

“I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, Harry,” Dumbledore said, though Harry didn’t see how he could’ve thought he would do anything else. “I just wish to prepare you, and to let you know that should anything be troubling you, I am always happy to listen. Though, I understand, discussing such things with your Headmaster is not a particularly appealing thought, I can understand how you are feeling more than you may think.”

Harry forced himself to meet Dumbledore’s eyes. Again, he was confused. What did _that_ mean?

But Dumbledore did not seem keen to elaborate. He just smiled. “Remus Lupin asked me to keep an eye on you in his last letter. Don’t worry—” he said, when Harry looked outraged, “—he did not divulge the contents of any private talks you may have had with him. Just that he was worried about you. Your relationship with Evander Turner, is of course, none of my business, but I wish you to know that the entirety of the staff here will be supportive of you, no matter what happens in the future on this subject.”

Harry snorted loudly. He highly doubted Snape would be eager to offer a comforting ear to Harry’s worries of being outed.

If Dumbledore had guessed the train of these thoughts, he did not show it. Instead, he stood up and crossed to a cabinet to withdraw his Pensieve.

“Well, let’s get started with what I brought you here to show you, shall we?”

* * *

The following Tuesday, Harry, Ron and Hermione were in Herbology, kneeling by the vegetable patches as they examined some shrubs Professor Sprout had assigned them, drawing and labelling the parts of the plants with the aid of their textbooks. Harry had been musing about what he had viewed in the Pensieve all weekend, and that, in combination with his constant fretting over Karlsson and Evan had made him even surlier than he’d been all week.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Hermione asked him, actually stopping her drawing to stare at him. Ron did likewise, as though he’d only been waiting on Hermione before staring at him. “You’ve been moody all weekend. This isn’t about Voldemort is it? Your lesson with Dumbledore?”

“No,” Harry grunted, putting down his own drawing. He sighed and looked across the grounds. It was still relatively warm, and the class was fairly spread out across the vegetable patches. “Just something he said.”

“What?” Ron asked. He and Hermione looked so concerned, Harry wasn’t sure he could lie to them. He’d wondered ever since Saturday about how to tell them, or even if he should. But the thought of sitting in the Great Hall one day and having Hermione read the _Daily Prophet_ in front of him and discover Harry’s kiss with Evan on the front page was more horrible than being honest. They didn’t deserve to find out like that, but he still didn’t know if he could face telling them everything.

“The Aurors got wind of a letter that Karlsson was trying to send me,” he said, staring down at the earth, digging his trowel deep down. “She’s trying to blackmail me.”

Predictably, they sounded outraged. “What for?” Hermione asked indignantly.

He took a deep breath, still staring down at the trowel. Did he dare?

“She’s trying to claim …” he said slowly, mulling it over, “that she saw something at the Lodge. She was asking for money to stop her going to the papers.”

“What is she saying she saw?”

Harry’s heart beat a little faster. “She … uh, she’s trying to say she saw me and Evan … in the gardens.”

He couldn’t see their reactions, but he could tell they had both gone still.

“Doing what in the gardens?” Ron’s voice was blunt, and Harry’s heart sank.

He shrugged. “Dunno, she wasn’t specific. She’s just leaping on the bandwagon, I suppose. They’ve stopped her for now, but when it comes out … everything will be worse.”

“What a mean, spiteful old cow,” Hermione spat. “Just because you won fair and square?”

“They won’t believe her, will they?” Ron asked, and Harry hated how hopeful his voice sounded. “Everyone will know she’s only doing it for revenge.”

“She was living at the Lodge, Ron,” Harry said bitterly. “And she wasn’t drunk like everyone else. She didn’t go to the party. She’s a lot more believable than the others. Even if she is biased.”

“Still,” Ron said, “what can she say she actually saw? You weren’t doing anything, right?”

“Right,” Harry said, masking his sigh. “But she can make up what she wants.”

After a few moments, he dared look up at them. Hermione was shaking her head, still annoyed. Ron looked uncomfortable, as he always did when this subject came up. How could Harry ever tell him the truth like this? If mere rumours could upset him, how would he handle what actually happened?

They tried to make light of it, as they resumed their work, Ron half-jokingly asking Hermione if she could imprison any more journalists in jars, as she had done with Rita Skeeter. As supportive as they were now, Harry dreaded to think what would happen after more of this; the rumours didn’t look as though they would die down anytime soon.

Hermione sat back and shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked over at the front door. “Is that—Professor McGonagall? What’s she doing out here?”

Ron and Harry looked around. Indeed, they could recognise the form of their teacher coming out of the castle and beginning to walk towards the vegetable patches. There was a black-robed figure at her side.

“Who’s that with her?” Ron asked, frowned as he looked over. “Has one of the others decided to swap classes?”

But Harry had already recognised that familiar mop of curling brown-blond hair. His heart sank right down into the damp earth around him.

He now understood what Dumbledore had meant about seeing Evan again sooner than he thought.


	28. Why is he here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for everyone's comments!

Harry wondered if he was dreaming it, then if this would be a good dream or a nightmare. True, the sight of Evan’s face had sent the butterflies soaring in his stomach, and a deeply pleasing sensation through his body as he remembered the sensations his touch had produced in him. But seeing him here, after how they’d ended things, surrounded by all these people … it set him into a similar wave of panic to the one at King’s Cross.

Ron and Hermione had now also recognised Evan, and the rest of the class had stopped working to stare at the figure coming towards them. Harry was rooted to the spot.

“Professor Sprout,” McGonagall said, as she drew up.

Evan waited by her side as the Herbology Professor came forwards. He was looking around in that same detached way he always took things in, surveying his surroundings as minutely as he’d watch opposing players approaching with the Quaffle. His eyes seemed to pass completely over Harry, and Harry wasn’t sure whether he was glad of that or not.

“I have a new student for you,” Professor McGonagall said, gesturing to Evan, though she hardly needed to, for everyone’s eyes were on him. “Evander Turner. He will be joining Hogwarts this year. As I mentioned to you the other day.”

“Of course,” Professor Sprout said, beaming at the new arrival, though Harry was certain he had noticed her flick her eyes towards him. “I was very impressed by your OWL result in Herbology. Not many people do so well in formal exams when being home schooled. You must have some very dedicated parents.”

Evan blinked at her. “Yes.”

He was uncomfortable. Harry could tell that, even if his face appeared entirely blank. Meeting so many new people, having to talk to them … he’d be hating this. He’d hate school itself. Hadn’t he told Harry that? That his parents would never allow him to come—that he feared that he’d not fit in easily?

_So why is he here?_

“You’ll also be pleased to learn he has been Sorted into Hufflepuff, Professor Sprout,” McGonagall said, curtly. “I am sure you shall soon help him to settle in. The other students also.”

Now Harry was _certain_ that both Professors Sprout and McGonagall had looked his way. The rest of the class had followed suit. Harry was still stuck where he had been sitting. Evan was the only one not looking at him. Harry could not help but think back to the conversation in the gardens when Harry had tried to sort Evan as a joke. Hufflepuff had been his guess. They both knew that.

Professor McGonagall had gone back up to the castle, leaving a completely stunned class behind her. Eyes were flicking rapidly between the two boys, some widening in excitement at having _two_ international Quidditch players in their class, and some looking suspicious.

“Well, let me get you started,” Sprout said to Evan, smiling in a friendly manner. “Have you ever seen a Turgyroot plant before?”

“No.”

“Alright, then come with me and I’ll show you, fill you in on what everyone else is doing,” she said, smile slipping slightly at Evan’s abrupt tone. “Everyone else, continue on.”

Then he was gone, and Harry could start to breathe a little again. His legs had cramped from his awkward kneeling position. He fell back on the earth, crossing his legs, not even caring that his robes would get filthy.

“What the hell’s he doing here?” he said to no one in particular. The shock had not worn off yet.

“Ginny was right, that bloke’s well into you,” Ron said, gaping after them. “He’s followed you to school. He’s a right stalker!”

 _Followed me_? Harry’s heart beat quicker. Was this a good thing or a bad thing?

“Maybe he’s just trying to get an education?” Hermione said, frowning slightly. “He’s been home schooled, after all. Perhaps his parents don’t think they can teach him at NEWT level?”

“Then why not start at the beginning of the year like the rest of us?” Ron demanded. “I’m telling you, it’s because of Harry. Harry turned him down flat at King’s Cross and now he’s decided to come here and try and … I dunno, win him over or something. It’s creepy.”

 _Win me over?_ Harry couldn’t dare believe it. After what he’d said to Evan he didn’t think he’d ever want to see him again. Had his parents forced him to come? No, that couldn’t be it; they hadn’t wanted him in school at all. He must’ve had to argue to get here. _What did this mean?_

“Wonder what’s happening with his Quidditch team?” Hermione mused, going back to her drawing, but casting glances over in Evan’s direction. “Has he quit, maybe? Taking a break?”

“Maybe he’s been fired,” Ron suggested. “No, listen—all this stuff with Harry, it’s not good publicity, is it? The paper’s talking about how they got drunk and … you know, maybe did stuff. He’s underage. Gives the team a bad rep.”

This thought sent a real spike of panic through Harry. Had he cost Evan his dream career?

Neither of the two of them seemed to be noticing that Harry was seconds away from running away, or perhaps just pulling the earth over the top of him and hiding from it all. Evan was _here_. If the gossiping was bad now, it was about to get ten times worse. An if Karlsson followed through on her threat … it’d be unbearable. And that’s without even trying to think about whatever Harry was supposed to do now. _Was_ Evan here trying to repair their relationship?

_Was this his second chance?_

“Don’t you think you should go talk to him, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“What?” Harry was jerked from his internal musings. “Why?”

“Well, he’s new,” Hermione said, looking confused. “And you said you were friends. He won’t know anything about the school, will he? And besides, you should let him know about that Karlsson thing.”

 _He won’t care_ , Harry thought, remembering Evan’s words at the station. _He’s not like me. He wouldn’t let something like that bother him._

Why couldn’t he be the same way?

“Harry needs to stay away from him,” Ron said, looking at Hermione as though she was mad. “D’you want the rumours to get worse? If they’re seen together, people’ll think it was true!”

“I can’t talk to him,” Harry said, not sure if he was talking to himself or not. “He was angry the last time we talked.”

“See?” Ron said triumphantly. “Harry doesn’t want to be near a bloke that flies into a rage because he doesn’t fancy him back.”

Harry could have laughed at the phrase ‘flies into a rage’ if he wasn’t so numb. That wasn’t Evan at all; he was gentle, kind, thoughtful. At least, until Harry had rejected him. Till he’d thrown everything so ungratefully back in his face.

He didn’t get any of his Herbology work done and was assigned extra homework. As the bell went, the class hung around, still staring between the two of them. Neville looked as though he was torn between awe at meeting a famous Quidditch player, and curiosity at why he was here seemingly chasing after Harry.

“What class do you have next?” Professor Sprout asked Evan brusquely, when he just stood there, making no move towards the castle. He pulled out a timetable from his pocket.

“Charms.”

“Alright, so why don’t one of the others show you where to go?” Sprout asked. She looked hopefully at the class for a moment, before resting her eyes on Harry. He squirmed on the spot. _Not me, not me._

“Potter! You know Turner, don’t you? Why don’t you show him?”

Harry could have died on the spot as everyone’s eyes, except Evan’s turned to him. Unable to think of a reasonable excuse, he nodded.

The class began trickling back up to the castle, casting curious looks at the two of them as they stayed at the vegetable patches. Professor Sprout tottered off to the greenhouses to meet her next class. Ron and Hermione were still with him, and he didn’t dare look at either of their faces. Was Evan about to explain why he was here? Should he ask them for some privacy?

Turns out, it wasn’t needed.

“Where is the Charms classroom?” he asked, not looking at any of them, face blank of expression.

Harry tried to speak, but his voice failed him. Fortunately, Hermione came to his rescue.

“Third floor, there’s a sign marked Charms corridor. Last room on the right.”

“Thank you,” Evan said, and without a look at any of them, swept off towards the castle, walking quickly enough to outstrip Neville, who was still gawking at him.

Harry felt any hope that Evan might have come here for him evaporate. _Now he’s the one that can’t look at me._

It hurt more than he thought it could.

“What a weird bloke,” Ron said, as they began walking up to Charms, eyes on the back of his head. “I get what the papers were saying now. Definitely unfriendly.”

“But Harry said he isn’t always like that,” Hermione said, as they climbed the marble staircase. There was a distinct ripple in the conversation that was around them as people spread the news that they had just glimpsed Evan. “He can be nice too. Wasn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Harry said shortly, still analysing Evan’s behaviour and what this might mean.

The Charms classroom with filled with furious whispers when they arrived as students from other classes were now seeing Evan for the first time. Harry, Ron and Hermione took their usual seats at the back, but Evan was looking around, unsure what to do. Eventually, he took a seat on his own, away from the others. Neville was across from him, and stared openly, before turning to look back at Harry.

Professor Flitwick also stared, but he at least seemed to have been prepared to see him there, for he chatted to him for a moment, complimenting him on gaining an OWL in Charms, despite his hectic training schedule, just as Professor Sprout had done, his voice getting squeakier as he also congratulated him on his Quidditch victory, as he had done with Harry last week. At least this time he hadn’t burst into tears and shook his hand. Evan probably looked too stoic for him to attempt it.

Evan’s replies were as stiff and direct as they had been earlier, and the conversation was very short-lived, so Flitwick began the lesson. Harry hardly heard any of it. His eyes were on the back of Evan’s head, desperately wishing he knew Legilimancy and could find out what he was thinking.

After Charms was break and then a free period. Hermione got started on their growing mountain of homework, Ron sat and grumbled and speculated about why Evan was here, but Harry could do little more than stare at the fire in the common room. He wondered what Evan was doing now. After Charms, Ernie MacMillan, Hufflepuff Prefect, seemed to have taken it upon himself to be Evan’s personal guide and had shepherded him away as soon as the bell went, possibly to the Hufflepuff common room. Ernie was chatting away so pompously Harry doubted he’d even notice Evan being so uncomfortable, not like Harry had.

Lunch was chaos as the entire Hufflepuff table had seemed to descend on Evan, eager to speak to him and congratulate him on the match, happy that now Gryffindor was not the only House with an internationally famous Quidditch player in it. Harry could see Evan tensing up as the crowd grew, and he longed to go over there and help him out. Fortunately, it seemed Evan’s lack of apparent enthusiasm seemed to make the crowd thin somewhat, and he resumed eating in silence, apparently barely listening to Ernie’s continued monologue. He still had not looked at Harry.

Harry himself was the subject of greater scrutiny, and he was discomfited to see that people at the Slytherin table, and quite a few others, were laughing and making suggestive faces and gestures at him, looking between the two. Harry tried to focus on his lunch, but his mind was racing. _Why is he here? What should I do?_

Transfiguration was after lunch, and again, the class spent half their time staring at the two of them, prompting Professor McGonagall to get very stern.

“If any of you want autographs from Potter or Turner, do it on your own time,” she snapped at them. “For goodness sake, you’d think that after five years you’d all be used to Potter at least! Right now, I have no interest in their sporting ability, no matter how good it is. They are NEWT students in my Transfiguration class, and so are the rest of you, so stop acting like starstruck first years!”

Suitably reprimanded, most resumed their work without any more quiet whispering, but Harry knew this was not over, nor that they’d only been looking at the two of them for their relative fame. He saw Malfoy in a corner, sniggering behind his hand as he whispered to Blaise Zabini.

He was grateful for their next free period just to get away from the stares. Hermione showed up after Ancient Runes, and she met them before they headed down to dinner.

“He’s really smart,” she told them, as they got to the Entrance Hall. “His Ancient Runes translations are much better than mine. Professor Babbling was very impressed. He told her he’d learned lots of Runes through travelling. Sounds like he’s been lots of places.”

“Travelling?” Ron asked, disgruntledly. “You mean, we’ve been stuck at school for five years and he’s been trotting the globe learning Ancient Runes and playing Quidditch? How’s that fair?”

“He’s obviously learned other things too,” Hermione said. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be in so many NEWT classes. Most of the same ones we’re in, I think. He looked like he coped okay in Charms and Transfiguration. Must’ve been harder to pass OWLs without specialist teachers.”

“Why was he home schooled anyway?” Ron asked as they entered the Great Hall and saw him sitting down next to Ernie. “Was it because of all the travelling? Or is he just that much of a hermit?”

Both Ron and Hermione looked to Harry, and he shrugged, trying to look as if he wasn’t privy to all of Evan’s darkest secrets. “He was ill as a kid,” he said, being deliberately vague. “Couldn’t come.”

“Really? What was wrong?”

“He didn’t say,” Harry said, piling food onto his plate quickly so he could begin eating and extract himself from the conversation.

He couldn’t help but glance over at Evan several more times during dinner, gladder than ever that the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables were so close. His face was giving nothing away whatsoever, but Harry could somehow tell he was not happy. What was he expecting? Did he want Harry to try and talk to him? The closed off expression on his face said no.

He deliberately slowed eating, hoping perhaps that he could catch Evan as they were heading out of the Great Hall and was glad when he saw him and Ernie had finished eating at the same time as them. But as they all rose to go, he saw Evan racing ahead, leaving Ernie in his wake looking a bit put out.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” he said, as they met in the doorway. “I was just talking to your friend. He’s a bit of an odd fellow, isn’t he?”

“If _Ernie_ thinks Turner’s odd,” Ron muttered, as they went back upstairs, “Turner must be positively barking.”

* * *

The news that Evander Turner had shown up at Hogwarts spread like wildfire, and the gossip about the two of them stepped up a gear. Harry had to leave the common room early that night to escape all the stares and pointed whispers and giggles. He heard the word ‘gay’ several times, accompanied with various smirks, sniggers, or suspicious frowns. Ron glared at them all, but Harry did not feel any better.

Classes continued with Evan the next day, and still Harry wasn’t sure what move he should be making, if any. He’d stayed up all night thinking about it, and still hadn’t come to a solution. He had stopped wearing the grass bracelet on his wrist, worried that it would rip or be otherwise destroyed in the busy corridors, but he found himself getting out of bed several times that night to bring it out and look at it, remembering the time Evan had given it to him. He’d been so honest with him then, so trusting … and Harry had repaid that trust with nothing but shame and fear.

Herbology passed quickly, with Evan working at a different area from them quite close to Neville, who looked quite amazed at being so near, but he said nothing to anybody. The corridors were buzzing as he walked past, people falling over themselves to get a better look at both of them. In Potions, Slughorn was ecstatic to see him.

“Evander Turner!” he boomed across the class, face shining with excitement. “What are the chances I could have not one, but _two_ such excellent Quidditch players in my class?”

Evan, who had jumped when Slughorn had shouted his name, frowned slightly at the unexpected enthusiastic greeting. He took a seat, again on his own, as Slughorn continued beaming at him.

“Of course, I knew your parents, Evander m’boy,” he said, nodding happily. “Cressida and Lucretius. Very good potion makers both; I expect they’ve taught you well! What a career they’ve had— five years flying with the Appleby Arrows and then managing all their publicity! They went off travelling for a while when you were young, didn’t they? The Arrows weren’t the same without them. They must be glad to have been back with them these last couple of years.”

Evan looked up at Slughorn, plainly bewildered. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Harry felt a distinct discomfort growing in his gut. He didn’t like how Slughorn was smarming up to him like that. Didn’t he know or care that Evan was far more than all of that?

“What a glittering career you have ahead of you yourself, Evander!” Slughorn continued, not caring apparently that the rest of the class were here, sitting waiting for his lesson to start. “No idea why you wanted to leave the Arrows and come to school! Was there a particular reason?”

Harry could not help but lean in, though rationally he knew Evan wasn’t about to start revealing his secrets to the whole class.

“No,” was all he said, and Slughorn fell back, a little disappointed he wasn’t more forthcoming.

“Well, I’m sure it’s a wise decision. After all, a good education is always worthwhile, even if international stardom awaits, isn’t that right, Harry?”

Slughorn’s eyes had turned to him now, and Harry froze as everyone else’s (save Evan’s) did too.

“Uh … yes, sir.”

“Both of you _must_ come along to one of my little gatherings,” Slughorn said cheerfully, puffing up his chest, and looking thrilled with himself. “Imagine the tales the two of you could tell! The eyes of the world were on you, my boys, and you have such bright futures to look forward to.”

Most of the class looked amused; Harry could tell they were not particularly confident of Evan’s ability to tell any sort of tale when he had so far not said anything more than five words at a time. Malfoy was smirking at Harry from behind Slughorn’s back, eyes flitting between him and Evan and making kissy faces. Harry looked away before he got the urge to hex him, teacher or no teacher.

The rest of the lesson passed fairly normally, Slughorn praising Harry’s potions with over enthusiastic glee as he normally did now Harry had access to the Half-Blood Prince’s book. Evan’s cauldron, he passed with an appreciative smile; it appeared Evan was competent enough, but not as dazzling as Harry or Hermione in the subject. It did not stop him still effusing over him, however.

“How well you’ve done, considering your lack of time in school! I wouldn’t have thought you’d have had much time for studies with all that training you’ve had! What an all-rounder you are, Evander!”

“I don’t like being called Evander.”

The class gasped as Evan spoke, staring with wide eyes at him, shocked at his apparent rudeness. Slughorn looked very taken aback.

“Oh, well,” he said, evidently a little flustered. “What do you prefer, Mr Turner?”

“Evan.”

“Very well, no trouble at all!” Slughorn looked as though he was trying desperately to recover, putting on his most jovial tone. “Do make sure to drop by whenever you’re passing, Evan! You too, Harry!”

“That was pretty rude of him,” Ron observed as they headed outside for their break. “I don’t like being ignored whenever he gushes over you and Hermione, or when I’m called ‘Weasley’ all the time. Doesn’t mean I’d say it to a teacher though.”

“He’s never been in school before,” Harry said, defending him before he could stop himself. “It’s only ever been his mum and dad. And he did always hate his full name.”

“Still, you don’t see me snapping when Mum calls me Ronald,” Ron argued back. “He really is grumpy, isn’t he? Didn’t even smile when Slughorn was saying all that nice stuff about him.”

Harry didn’t reply to this. Had it only been him who’d seen how uncomfortable Evan was with all the attention? Or how he’d winced when he’d heard everyone’s reaction and realised that he’d sounded a bit sharp to Professor Slughorn? He knew just how hard Evan sometimes found interacting with others. He’d be kicking himself now for coming across as rude when all he’d tried to do was be honest.

Evan didn’t look like he was upset by the time they reached Defence Against the Dark Arts, and his mask was firmly back in place. Harry could not help but stare as he took his own seat. The seat next to Evan was empty, as it was in every class. Not even Ernie had chosen to sit next to him here, perhaps finally unnerved by his companion’s silence.

Professor Snape’s lip curled as he saw him there, and Harry immediately had a sinking feeling when his cold dark eyes passed between the two of them.

“Today we shall be continuing with the practice of non-verbal incantations,” he said, looking around at them all with a distinct air of disinterest. “As none of you has yet mastered this art, I am forced to devote yet another lesson to it.”

Hermione, sitting next to Ron and Harry frowned. She had performed a perfect non-verbal spell in their very first lesson.

“Split into pairs and practice, one attempting to jinx, the other to repel,” he said. He raised an eyebrow as he looked around, and his sneer increased as his eyes fell on Evan sitting alone. “Of course, our illustrious Keeper, Mr Turner, is left without a partner. Pity.”

Malfoy was sniggering in a corner. He glanced over at Harry and waggled his eyebrows, jerking his head meaningfully towards Evan.

“Potter!” Snape barked. He stepped a little closer, eyes glittering maliciously. “The two of you obviously work so well together. Why don’t you move over to that empty seat and practice with him?”

Malfoy’s sniggers grew, and Harry tried not to flinch as the class turned to look at him. By his side, Ron looked alarmed, as though Snape had just asked him to go and pair up with a Basilisk. Finding no way to get out of this situation, he met Snape’s eyes as coldly as he could, and picked up his bag to go and move, determined not to let him know that he’d gotten to him.

Evan did not look up as he sat down. He did not move a muscle in fact. Harry wasn’t sure what to do. The rest of the class had begun practicing, but he and Evan were still staring straight ahead. Harry wanted to say something, to talk, reach out, but as usual his stupid mouth failed him. Evan was so close, the closest he’d been since King’s Cross, and as usual when Harry sat near him, he was intensely distracted. He looked down at the desk, seeing that Evan’s hands were sitting on the desk, rigidly holding his wand. He was uncomfortable, probably just as much as Harry was. Harry couldn’t help but think of when those hands had been more relaxed, when they had held his, had touched him, run themselves through his hair …

“Potter! Turner!” Snape had crept up on them, apparently intent on embarrassing them further. Harry looked pointedly away, lest Snape catch any of his lingering thoughts in his eyes. “You are not practicing.”

“I can do non-verbal spells,” Evan said. His voice was softer than when he had spoken to Slughorn, but Harry knew that with Snape, that didn’t matter.

Indeed, Snape had a dangerous glint in his eye. “Is that so?” he said, sounding highly sceptical. “Then why don’t you try and teach Potter then? He is abysmal. Perhaps he’d learn better with some … _private sessions_ with you.”

Harry flushed, half with embarrassment, half with anger. Evan however, looked at Snape in some confusion.

“Is that a serious request,” he asked, “or are you just being mean?”

Several people gasped. Despite the situation, Harry couldn’t help but suppress a small laugh.

Snape had gone very still, always a danger sign.

“Ten points from Hufflepuff, Turner.”

“Why?”

Harry winced. _No, Evan! Don’t argue back with Snape!_

He turned to look at him, hoping to let him know with his eyes to stop, but Evan would not look at him. He looked genuinely curious.

“I do not tolerate cheek in my classroom,” Snape said, positively glowering at him now.

Evan frowned, obviously confused. “You were cheeky first.”

Harry wanted to bury his head in his hands. The whole classroom had gone deadly quiet. As satisfying as it would normally be to see Snape be met with something like this, Harry’s mind was silently screaming at Evan to just shut up. He had no idea how hard Snape could make things for him.

“Detention, Turner,” Snape said finally. He turned and swept back up to the front of the class. “Half past eight, Saturday night, my office. Same night as Potter’s, coincidentally; he was cheeky too. I’m sure you’ll enjoy that. Both of you must learn that being a famous Quidditch player means nothing in my class. It appears you were made for each other.”

Harry’s cheeks flamed worse than ever as he heard Malfoy laughing again, this time not even attempting to hide it from Snape. He glared at the desk, willing himself not to shout back at Snape, or turn and throw an entirely _not_ non-verbal spell at Malfoy.

The rest of the lesson passed in awkward silence. Evan never lifted his eyes to him and did not even lift his wand. Snape swept by every so often, but did not reprimand them again for not practicing, evidently enjoying the discomfort they were both in. When the bell went, Evan left as swiftly as he ever did.

“As weird is he is, I almost enjoyed that,” Ron said, staring at Evan’s retreating back. “Did you see Snape’s face when he called him cheeky right back?”

Harry had. And he had also seen just how tense Evan was under the table the entire time when they were in that class. More than ever, it just begged the question: If Evan was so uncomfortable being in a school, just why was he here?


	29. Twice Defended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading and commenting!
> 
> TW for some homophobic language in this chapter.

The next day was just as bad, with all the staring and less than subtle comments following Harry from the moment he left the common room, comments which were multiplied tenfold whenever he and Evan were somewhat near each other. It didn’t help that the _Daily Prophet_ had run an article that morning discussing Evan taking a two year leave of absence from the Appleby Arrows to go to Hogwarts, speculating wildly that he was chasing after Harry in some lovesick manner. It had also confirmed, via a very suspect interview with one of the other Arrows players (which gave Harry an extremely uneasy feeling which he couldn’t quite identify) that Evan was most definitely gay.

If Evan _was_ lovesick (as Harry most certainly was), he gave no sign of it. Every time he passed Harry, he kept his eyes down, and he spoke only the bare essentials to everybody. It reminded Harry painfully of those first few days at the Lodge when he and Evan did not speak, and Harry had dismissed him as odd and unfriendly. He hadn’t even looked at him properly until he’d been injured in training with Viktor. Harry wondered vaguely that if he injured himself intentionally with a potions knife if he might at least look up.

Even if he could have found the courage to speak to him, they were constantly surrounded by people, and Evan retreated straight to the Hufflepuff common room every chance he got, so Harry could not get to him. He worried for him there; the Hufflepuff common room was in the dungeons, and Harry knew he could not relish being underground so much.

Their last class on Thursday was Potions, and Harry and Ron were descending the marble staircase to head down to the dungeons when they saw him coming in from outside. Evan apparently noticed them, but still did not make eye contact. Another person had also noticed Harry arrive in the Entrance Hall.

“Look, Turner, here’s Potter for you!” Malfoy jeered. “Maybe if he stands next to you it’ll make you smile for a change.”

Harry tried to ignore it, but Malfoy just laughed harder, fellow Slytherins, Nott and Zabini, joining in. “What’s the matter, Potter? Had a spat with your boyfriend? Couldn’t blame you. He’s not much fun, is he? Probably how he beat those Swedes; boring them into dropping the Quaffle!”

There were more laughs. Several more people were passing, and though most looked uneasy, a few were snickering appreciatively.

But while Harry’s insides were curling up in embarrassment and anger, Evan looked entirely unconcerned. Calmly, he turned to face Malfoy, and slowly raised one eyebrow.

“You know, you’re very sure of yourself for a boy whose father’s rotting away in a jail cell for trying and failing to murder a bunch of teenagers.”

Malfoy’s face drained of colour, and Harry had the wild urge to laugh at seeing Evan stand up to him. The crowd had gone still.

“You think you’re better than me, Turner?”

“Yes,” Evan said simply.

Harry thought Malfoy was going to curse him. He was in the middle of reaching for his own wand to head him off when Malfoy spoke again, a truly vile look on his face.

“At least I’m not a homo.”

There was a rippling gasp around the rapidly gathering crowd, and Harry saw red. His wand was in his hand before he knew it and he pointed at Malfoy, but again, Evan remained entirely calm. He had tilted his head to the side, looking at Malfoy as though he was simply curious.

“You think I care what you think of me?” he asked, expression almost pitying. “I’m not ashamed of being gay, but you should most certainly be ashamed of having a Death Eater for a father. Perhaps you should be rethinking your priorities instead of trying to follow in his footsteps all the way to Azkaban.”

This time, Harry was certain Malfoy was going to curse him. Malfoy had grabbed his wand from his pocket and was in the process of lifting it when Harry leapt in.

“ _Protego!_ ” he cried, and thanks to his lightning sharp reflexes Malfoy’s jinx bounced harmlessly off his rapidly summoned shield.

Malfoy’s face contorted with rage.

“Well, of course _you’d_ defend him, Potter,” he spat. “Couple of poofs together.”

Harry was so angry, so outraged, he didn’t even think of denying it, and was seconds away from standing right next to Evan and admitting it for everyone to see and damn the consequences. Fury was flooding through him. How _dare_ he speak to Evan in that way and try to attack him?

“MALFOY!”

Professor McGonagall was practically running down the marble staircase, her own face white with fury. Her wand was in her hand. She was glaring at Malfoy more severely than Harry had ever seen her do before, and he wouldn’t have been surprised to see her lift her wand towards him.

“I heard everything,” she said, eyebrows contracted in a fierce line. “How _dare_ you? Fifty points from Slytherin. My office. _Now!”_

Malfoy looked as if he had been slapped on the face. His jaw clenched tightly, and Harry wondered if he was actually going to start shouting at Professor McGonagall. However, he simply stuffed his wand in his pocket and stormed off up the stairs.

McGonagall turned her eyes on Harry and Evan and seemed to soften. “Well handled, both of you,” she said. “Now, off to class. That means everyone!”

The crowd immediately leapt to follow her instructions, and Harry was shaking when he turned towards Evan. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping for—a smile? An acknowledgment of gratitude perhaps? He certainly hadn’t expected to see Evan’s back already heading towards the dungeons.

Harry stared after him. The anger of before had gone, replaced with a deflated sense of loss. _Why won’t he even look at me?_

He felt someone hook him under the elbow and start propelling him towards the stairs. Ron was on his left side, and Hermione was hurrying to catch up with them on his right.

“What’d you go and do that for?” Ron asked him under his breath. “You do know what that looked like, right?”

“I’m not about to stand for Malfoy bullying someone,” Harry snapped, feeling like telling Ron to mind his own business. “When would I have ever let something like that slide?”

“I know, it was you being noble and all, like usual, but Harry—it looked like Malfoy struck a nerve or something,” Ron said, glancing up and down the corridor for listening ears. “That you were defending him because ... you know …”

_Well, he did_ , Harry thought angrily. _And I did defend him because ‘you know’._

“Are you saying I should’ve just _let_ Malfoy say those things?”

Ron bit his lip, still glancing around. “I’m not saying it wasn’t a good thing you did. It was vile what he said. Proper wrong. If it’d been anyone else, I might’ve done it too. But Malfoy always says stuff like that. You being touchy about it when he’s right there … it looks bad.”

_I don’t care_ , Harry thought, as they went into the dungeons and sat down. _I don’t care how it looked_. _I wasn’t going to let Malfoy hurt him_.

He did worse than he usually did in Potions these days because he was far too distracted by Evan across the classroom to pay much attention to his textbook’s instructions. Evan did not look around at him, did not smile or acknowledge him in any way. He looked entirely unruffled by the entire thing.

Harry had a sudden surge of admiration for him. He really didn’t care about comments like that. The words he had said to Malfoy were like a glowing torch inside of him: _I’m not ashamed of being gay._ Harry wished he could be so confident to say those words, admit what he felt to the world. But now that the initial anger had passed, he was allowing the old fears to slink back in. He wished he could be more like Evan; to be unafraid and unashamed of anything.

“I think it was a good thing that you did, leaping in like that,” Hermione said to him under her breath, when Ron went to the supply cupboard. “You’re not the sort of person to have ignored something like that. Especially for a friend. And Evan was really brave too.”

Harry looked at her, grateful for her support. She smiled back, and he wondered for a moment if she really understood exactly why he’d done it. He just wished he could admit it to her.

Or that Evan would turn around and look at him.

* * *

By the next day, word had spread, and the gossips had new fodder. Soon, even by the end of breakfast, the story had so radically mutated that it was being told that he had dramatically thrown himself across Evan’s cowering body, desperate to protect him. But Harry didn’t care. He wasn’t going to be ashamed for protecting someone who was about to be hexed.

In Defence Against the Dark Arts the following morning, their dull theory-based double lesson was filled with more murmurings. Malfoy, who had looked suitably cowed at breakfast, glared at him silently from across the room. Harry was sitting next to Evan again, listening, or at least pretending to listen to Snape’s lecture on counteracting jinxes nonverbally. He looked at Evan several times, hoping to catch his eye, but Evan was as evasive as ever. Was this really what he was usually like around others? Had this been what he was like before Harry had showed up at the Lodge? It seemed wrong somehow.

Snape finally moved onto the practical part of the lesson with only five minutes to go, whipping out his wand and leering at them all, as if carefully choosing who would be his first victim. The black eyes fell on Evan, and Snape smirked.

“Well, Mr Turner, since you said you were such an expert in non-verbal spells, why don’t you join me for a demonstration?”

He obviously intended to humiliate him, but Evan didn’t look bothered. He stood up and went to the front of the class, passing Harry so closely the hairs rose on the back of his neck. Harry stared as Evan walked up and stood still in front of everyone. His physical presence still affected him so much. The sight of Snape eyeing him cruelly, wand clutched in his fingers, was so provoking Harry felt the same surge of anger building that he’d felt towards Malfoy. _If Snape hurt him_ …

“Mr Turner,” Snape sneered, “I would like you to attempt to throw a jinx at me, _without speaking_ , and I shall repel it, also without speaking. Perhaps a demonstration of your _skill_ will finally teach these idiots something.”

Evan simply raised an eyebrow. He raised his wand and a jet of turquoise light shot out of the end of his wand towards Snape, whose eyes widened a fraction in a split second of surprise before he raised his own wand and repelled it.

Harry couldn’t help but grin. Snape had obviously not expected him to be so good at it.

In fact, Snape looked furious, though any other reasonable teacher would surely have awarded points for such a perfect demonstration.

“Very well, Turner,” he said, voice dangerously low. “Can you repel me too?”

Then, before Evan had even had time to raise his wand, Snape had thrown a spell at him, catching him completely unawares. The spell hit him in the chest and slammed him hard against the wall, pinning him there, completely immobilised.

“What Turner failed to do,” Snape said, turning to face the rest of the class and leaving Evan stuck against the wall, struggling against the spell, “was _anticipate_. The Dark Arts are not forgiving. They will not wait for you to prepare yourself. You must be ready at all times.”

Evan was still pressed up against the wall, and Harry could see he was breathing heavily, eyes flitting around desperately. Snape still did not release him.

“Arrogance will get you nowhere in the fight against these forces,” Snape continued, lips twitching, as though aware of the discomfort Evan was in and not caring at all. “It will be merciless, unyielding …”

Harry droned out Snape’s rambling. His eyes were on Evan. The other boy’s face had gone pure white, his limbs stuck to the wall as if by glue. His eyes were wide and frantic, and his chest was heaving up and down as he fought for breath through his nose, his jaw clenched shut by the spell. Panic had entirely taken over his features as the spell kept him forced up against the wall. Harry recognised the signs immediately. The same ones in Flourish and Blotts when the crowd had threatened to crush him. He understood what was wrong. Evan was trapped … limbs unable to move … weight crushing him … just like he’d been trapped as a child in the rubble of his grandparents’ home …

Snape was still droning on. Evan needed him …

Not caring about the consequences, Harry lifted his wand and pointed it at Evan. “ _Finite Incantatem!”_

Evan immediately crumpled to the ground and was heard to begin gasping loudly, hunched over on all fours.

“POTTER!” Snape raged, rounding on him. “How dare you interfere with my lesson!”

But Harry wasn’t listening. He was already out of his seat and rushing towards him, heedless of the many mutterings beginning behind him. Evan was still in the midst of his panic, seizing gulping mouthfuls of air like he was drowning. He was shaking from head to foot.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, as he crouched down, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder.

Evan was shuddering, and still choking for air, but at Harry’s voice, he looked up and, for the first time in the almost two weeks since their conversation at King’s Cross, their eyes met.

It was like a jolt of electricity in Harry’s heart. Evan’s blue eyes were looking up at him with no trace of the cold indifference of the last few days, but instead were open and vulnerable.

“Potter! _What do you think you are doing?”_

“He’s claustrophobic!” Harry yelled back, turning on Snape with a scowl as fierce as the one Snape was giving him. “Just give him in a minute!”

Snape had not been expecting him to shout back. He reeled, and was momentarily speechless and Harry turned back to Evan. He had now calmed somewhat, breathing in a pattern Harry recognised from his meditation sessions.

“Come on,” he said, stretching out a hand and helping him up. To his delight, Evan did not throw off the hand, and accepted his help back to his seat, where he was still trembling badly.

“You think the Dark Lord will care?” Snape said, voice so quiet it could barely be heard over Evan’s gasps. He looked at Harry more maliciously than he ever had before. “He will not balk at exploiting any weakness.”

“What, you think You-Know-Who’s going to shove him in a dark cupboard?” Harry was surprised, but ecstatic to hear Ron’s indignant voice arguing back. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“I decide what is necessary in my class, Weasley!”

The bell went for break, and there was a mad scramble to leave; no one wanted to be around when Snape finally lost it at Harry or Ron lest they be caught in the crossfire. Evan himself was being helped away by Ernie, who was trying his best to be consoling in an unfortunately very patronising manner.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor!” Snape cried, before they could leave. “And Turner—you’d better just hope Potter’s always around to rush in and save you.”

Harry left himself, not even bothered that he had lost twenty points, or that the rumours would be made worse. He was too angry to be annoyed. As far as he was concerned, it was worth it to stop Evan’s terror. He pushed outside quickly to try and find him, make sure he was okay. But he seemed to have vanished entirely.

“Harry!”

Ron and Hermione were rushing up behind him.

“Oh, Harry, you’re lucky you’re not in much worse trouble. I really thought Snape was going to—”

“So, you think I was wrong to step in?” Harry demanded of Hermione. She frowned.

“Of course not! I’m glad you did!” she said fervently. “That was just plain horrible.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, nodding. “Sick is what it was. Everyone could see he was panicking.”

Harry looked at Ron, daring to hope that something might have changed. Had he defended Evan for his own sake, for Harry’s? Or just because it was the right thing to do?

“How did you know he was claustrophobic, Harry?” Hermione asked him as they walked towards the staircases, even as Harry was still looking around the corridors for Evan, aware that break was now almost over.

“He didn’t like the crowds,” Harry said quickly, trying to explain it without mentioning his traumatic childhood accident. “You know, the journalists, photographers, all the people looking for autographs.”

“Good thing you did know,” Ron said as they reached the stairs. “Snape wasn’t going to do anything. Evil git.”

“I thought you’d be telling me it was a stupid idea,” Harry said, testing the waters tentatively. “That it would look bad.”

“This is different,” Ron said, though he looked a bit uncertain. “At least this time everyone saw how upset he was and that he actually needed help. Last time he didn’t look like he cared at all and you looked like the desperate one. Still, don’t go doing it too often, mate, or people _will_ get the wrong idea.”

Harry’s hopes sank like a lead balloon. Ron still thought it was wrong he associate himself too much with Evan. This incident would add fuel to the already raging fire, and Ron wasn’t comfortable with it, no matter how much he hated Snape or thought the action had been a good one in principle.

Harry walked faster, turning the corner onto another staircase, and his heart almost stopped when he saw Evan there, apparently having escaped Ernie’s overzealous administrations. He was standing in the middle of the staircase, looking around and frowning. Harry noticed the hand that wasn’t resting on the banister was still shaking slightly.

Not caring that Ron and Hermione were right next to him, Harry marched straight up to him.

“Evan, you okay?”

Evan’s eyes snapped towards him for the second time that day, and it soothed some of the anger inside Harry to see those eyes looking back at him. He was blinking rapidly.

“Fine,” he said, but his voice was wobbly. He looked up and down the staircase, eyes lingering for a second on Ron and Hermione, who’d stopped a couple of feet away. “I – I thought this staircase went somewhere else.”

“It does on a Friday,” Harry explained, and Evan’s eyebrows went up.

“How do you ever find your way around this place?”

“Years of practice,” Harry said, shrugging. He still had his eyes on Evan, aware that this was their first conversation in what felt like forever. And no matter how mundane it was, it thrilled him. “You _sure_ you’re okay?”

Evan nodded, looking directly at Harry, eyes softening. He seemed to be holding himself back with difficulty. If Harry had been alone with him, he knew he’d now be reaching out towards him, and from the looks of it, Evan would be too.

“Thanks,” Evan said, voice very quiet, but full of hidden meanings as he looked at him. “For what you did.” Just as Harry felt a rush of pleasure at that thank you, Evan flicked his eyes towards Ron. “You too, for what you said.”

Ron shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. “Snape was out of order. You didn’t deserve that.”

The bell for the end of break went and there was a loud sound of students moving around.

“You’re in Transfiguration next, right?” Hermione asked, smiling kindly at Evan. He nodded. “Well, come with us and we’ll show you the way. Took me weeks to get used to this place when I first arrived, and it still surprises me.”

Evan looked surprised, but nodded gratefully, and soon he was walking with the three of them to Transfiguration. Harry was elated that Hermione had offered to show him the way, but a little disheartened at Ron’s frown.

“S’long as it doesn’t become a regular thing,” he muttered to Harry when they took their seats in McGonagall’s class. “If he starts hanging around with us, you’ll never shake those rumours.”

Harry struggled to concentrate the full lesson, partly thinking about Ron’s depressing warning, and partly about how good it had been to have Evan look at him again, to hear his voice, to walk by his side.

As McGonagall moved up between the desks to assess their progress, Harry couldn’t help but notice she had a slightly warmer attitude to him, despite the fact that his spells weren’t going anywhere near as well as Hermione’s. She shot him what he could almost swear was a brief smile, before she glanced over at Evan.

Kingsley, Lupin, Tonks, Dumbledore, McGonagall … they all seemed to know now. How long would it be until everyone else found out the full truth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Harry finally thought he was getting somewhere with Ron, but then had his hopes crushed 😢 The way Ron sees it, Harry wants the rumours to stop, so Ron tries to help stop the rumours. But of course, he goes about it by saying all the wrong things 🤦


	30. After Detention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for some homophobic language. Some dialogue has been taken or adapted from Half-Blood Prince. 
> 
> Apologies for the relative shortness of this chapter! I just had to end it there! 😉

Quidditch try outs took place the day after the incident in Snape’s class, and Harry was astonished to see just how many people had shown up. It seemed like everyone in Gryffindor was here, as well as many from other Houses just eager to get a look at him, the international Quidditch star, despite the fact most of them had seen him fly at school before. Harry had to send away entire groups of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, as well as packs of giggling girls (who obviously weren’t disheartened by the gay rumours) before he could even get started with try outs. The only one he’d wished had turned up to watch but hadn’t, had been Evan.

The story, as all stories did at Hogwarts, had spread rapidly and grown arms and legs as it did so. Harry had now twice in as many days stood up for Evan in dramatic fashion in front of witnesses There was now hardly anyone who did not believe there was _something_ to the rumours. It did not prevent the girls still falling over themselves as he approached, but it did mean he had endured many more dark mutterings at breakfast.

The try outs took several hours as everyone seemed more eager to see Harry fly than try out themselves, but he eventually managed to find three Chasers, Katie, Demelza and Ginny, and two new Beaters, Cootes and Peake, who were not fantastic, but at least didn’t stare at him too much when he was near them.

Harry was growing extremely uncomfortable under all the scrutiny as the day wore on. Quidditch had never seemed more draining before. His Gryffindor robes felt substandard and itchy after the smooth elegance of his England ones, and he almost changed them over before considering how arrogant that would make him look and how much extra attention it would attract.

Keeper try outs were saved for last, partly to try and spare Ron’s nerves, but also because it was the one he was least looking forward to. No matter what he did, Harry could not shake the image of Evan hovering over the central goals on his broom, eyes alert, ready to spring into action at the last second. Evan had been the greatest Keeper he had ever seen, and everyone else was just a shoddy replacement.

Eventually, with what he suspected was the aid of a Confundus Charm on the part of Hermione, Ron had been declared the Keeper. When Harry turned to tell Cormac McLaggen, the second best player, this however, he saw that McLaggen’s face was red with fury.

“I want another shot,” he said immediately. “His sister didn’t even try on that last one.”

“Nonsense, that was the one he almost missed,” Harry said, dismissing him. “Ron’s Keeper. That’s my decision.”

“Yeah, and we all know why that is, don’t we?” McLaggen sneered. The rest of the team, who had come forwards to congratulate Ron turned to stare at them as their voices carried over towards them.

“Yeah, because Ron saved five and you saved four.” Harry was liking his tone less and less. “Fair and square.”

“The Weasleys are on the team because you like them,” he said, shaking his head. “And when it comes to that rubbish excuse for a Keeper, perhaps it’s because you _really_ like him.”

Harry went cold all over, despite the warm day. An unpleasant writhing sensation started in the pit of his stomach.

“You need to leave,” he said coldly. His hands were starting to shake. “Now.”

“Gladly,” he spat. “Wouldn’t want to be on a team with a poofter anyway.”

“Say that again, McLaggen?” Ginny had surged forwards, wand out.

But McLaggen simply scoffed and stalked off. Harry was left standing rigidly in the centre of the pitch. His chest felt oddly tight.

“Ignore him, Harry, he’s just mouthing off coz he messed up so badly,” Ginny said to him, but he couldn’t look at her. The coldness was gone, now he felt far too hot. So many of the others sitting in the stands had heard. They were talking behind their hands, whispering and pointing at him.

Harry hadn’t known words could hurt like that. He’d endured so many jibes over the years, after all. None of them had affected him like this. It was ugly, wrong, made him feel disgusting and shameful.

“Don’t let it upset you,” Ron said, when they had gone back up to the castle, and Harry was still sitting quietly at dinner. “McLaggen’s an arse. Why let something that neanderthal says bother you? The stuff from last year didn’t.”

But Ron hadn’t known just how badly all that speculation and gossip in the _Prophet_ had affected him. He had no idea just how much pressure Harry felt under all the time, how suffocated he felt. How much the weight of what had happened at the Ministry lived with him every second. He’d only told Evan that.

He looked over at the Hufflepuff table, desperately searching him out. He found him, sitting alone, eyes on his food. How had he manged to learn to brush everything off so easily?

Playing Quidditch today had not been as fun as it usually had. He missed the rest of the team, but more than that, he missed flying with Evan. He missed watching Evan on a broom, how his body bent and twisted in perfect tandem with the broom and how he flew so gracefully he might have been born of the air itself.

What the hell was he doing? Harry wondered. Why was he so determined to avoid this boy, so afraid of admitting what he felt? He needed to stop being a coward and tell him, face to face. Admit that he too wanted something more. It was agonising to be in the same room, the same castle and not be able to touch him, kiss him, even look at him for more time than was polite. He didn’t exactly know what he would do, but he couldn’t keep dancing around Evan.

They had their detention tonight with Snape. Perhaps that would be their only opportunity. They weren’t alone together any other time. Maybe he could catch him on the way out?

At half past eight he showed up in Snape’s office for the disgusting task of sorting out rotten flobberworms from good ones. Evan was also there, but Snape’s sneering presence in the room meant Harry was barely even able to look at him, let alone say anything. Instead, he chose to use the time to run through various scenarios in his head, rehearse conversations and possible ways he could broach the subject.

After a revolting couple of hours, Harry and Evan were finally allowed to leave, after scrubbing at their hands for several minutes in the sink. Harry’s heart beat faster as his hands brushed against Evan’s when they plunged their hands under the cold water. He wondered if Evan’s did too.

Before Harry had dried his hands on his robes, Evan had turned and swiftly left the room. Not wanting to miss this opportunity, Harry raced after him, catching up to him in a deserted corridor somewhere near the kitchens.

“Evan!”

Harry half expected Evan to ignore him, but no, he had come to a halt in the corridor. He did not turn around, however.

Harry hesitated; after hours of thinking about this, he was suddenly left without words.

“Can we talk?” he asked finally, wincing at how pathetic that sounded.

Slowly, Evan turned around. He kept his eyes on the ground, however.

“About what?”

Harry was rapidly losing courage the longer Evan refused to look at him. Was this a mistake? Had Evan had no intention of trying to make things up with Harry when he’d come to school? Was that look he’d given him yesterday after Snape’s class been a one-off? Well, regardless, Harry _had_ to find out.

“Why did you come here?” he blurted out, heart hammering.

Evan’s upper lip twitched, but otherwise gave no reaction. “I decided it was time to live in the real world.”

This wasn’t going well, Harry thought. He could see the hurt in his eyes, though he tried to mask it. Had he really hurt him so much? It pained him to think of it. To his horror, he felt an old familiar lump growing at the back of his throat, and thought he might actually end up weeping here in the corridor in front of him.

“Evan, please look at me,” he said, voice thicker than usual.

As though moved by the tone of the request, Evan suddenly obeyed. Harry felt breathless as he saw those brilliant eyes. As they had yesterday after his panic attack, they did not appear cold and passive. Now they were full of warmth and affection. It was almost the same way he had looked at him the morning they had said goodbye in that hotel room.

“What do you want from me, Harry?” he asked, his own voice sounding as lost as his own just had.

There was a slamming of a door behind him, and Harry jumped, fearing it was Snape coming this way. Without thinking, he stepped forwards and grabbed Evan by the arm, dragging him to the store cupboard a little way down the corridor. He pulled them both inside and hurriedly closed the door, holding his breath as he heard footsteps approach and then retreat. He breathed a sigh of relief.

It was then he saw Evan staring at him. He looked sad, sadder than Harry had ever seen him, as though by pulling him into a cupboard he’d just confirmed some terrible reality. Harry couldn’t bear to see that expression on his face.

“What do I want, Evan?” Harry said, throwing all caution to the wind. “I want _you_.”

He barely had time to see Evan’s expression of surprise before he had thrown himself at him, reaching out and placing his hands on the back of his head to pull his lips down to his. At first, Evan was too shocked to do anything, but only a split second later and he was kissing Harry back, soon growing ever more fervent as he too reached out to place his hands on him, grabbing at him so fiercely they might have been wrestling.

It was sweeter, more mind-numbingly perfect than what Harry remembered, far better than his feverish dreams of the last month. His body reacted more strongly than ever, and he clutched at Evan, desperate to close any last gap between them. _Why_ had he been so scared of this? _Why_ had he allowed this amazing boy to get away?

By now, he had Evan pressed up against the wall of the store cupboard, a couple of jars falling and smashing that neither of them cared about. Harry kissed him ever more deeply, never wanting this moment to end, delighted when Evan opened his mouth to his exploring tongue, moaning softly. His heart was soaring as though he was going full speed on his Firebolt. He had never desired Evan more.

But then, it was over.

Evan had wrenched himself away and was breathing deeply. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be trying to gather his senses. He licked his lips and groaned slightly.

“How do you do this to me, Harry?” he asked softly.

“What d’you mean?” Harry asked, breathless himself. His mind was spinning.

Evan opened his eyes to meet Harry’s. He sighed, and cupped Harry’s cheek with his palm. His eyes took on a new pain. “Drive me so completely crazy?” he said. He leaned in quickly and pressed a last lingering kiss to Harry’s lips, almost grimacing when he was done. “Make me feel so much joy and sadness all at the same time?”

Harry’s arms, still clasped around Evan, grew tense. He didn’t want to hurt him. Was that what he did? Was he such a terrible, selfish person?

“Evan—I …” Harry’s composure was breaking at the look he saw in his eyes. “I like you. I _really_ do. But …”

Evan swallowed hard and nodded in grave confirmation. “I can’t do this, Harry. I can’t be your dirty little secret.”

“That’s not what you are,” Harry said, upset at even the thought of it.

“Really?” Evan’s lips tugged upwards in a disbelieving smile. “How many of your friends know about what we’ve been up to?”

When Harry was silent, Evan laughed shortly. He stood upright from where he’d been half leaning, half supported against the wall by Harry. His hand dropped from Harry’s face, and he took a long deep breath, forcing an expression of calm over his features.

“I don’t hide who I am,” Evan said, face almost the expressionless mask of before. “When you’re ready to accept that’s true for both of us, come find me.”

And while Harry watched numbly, he stepped out of Harry’s arms, opened the door, and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah ... sorry! Another angsty ending, but with a glimmer of hope maybe?
> 
> Today is Burns Day in Scotland which is a day we celebrate our literature and culture and to celebrate I was reading the Scots translation of Harry Potter to the kids in my online class this morning (which is hilarious btw if you want to read it) and they absolutely loved it. I make no apologies for getting them into this fandom so young! If I was to write this fic in Scots, Harry and Evan would be Bizzumbaw players and Evan would have been Sorted into Hechlepech! 😂


	31. Advice from a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for some homophobic language.

Over the next week or so, Evan continued to avoid Harry, and Harry felt the loss worse than ever after their encounter in the dungeons. It had been so good, so _amazing_ to have him in his arms, kissing him again, that his absence was like a physical pain in Harry’s chest.

After it had happened, he had rushed back to the common room and up to bed, avoiding both Ron and Hermione, fearful they would see the truth in his eyes. The kiss, as badly as it had ended, left him more attracted to Evan than ever, and he’d never wished more that did not have to share his dormitory with other boys, especially when he awoke after a night of fevered dreams.

Seeing him in classes was hard, and Defence Against the Dark Arts was torture. They now could not get out of practicing spells together, but they avoided looking at each other so much their work was particularly shoddy. Snape adored attributing this to them being ‘starry-eyed fools’, sending Malfoy into fits of hilarity.

Harry was worried about Evan. Even into his third week at school, he did not seem to be adjusting very well. He frequently made unintentionally rude remarks, ignored others and generally came off badly to most people. He was deeply uncomfortable, and Harry was reminded of how he’d always said Hogwarts was not the place for him. Harry thought it might be too much, and couldn’t help but watch Evan in the corridors, fearful the crowds he generated might overwhelm him. Logically, Harry knew he had no right to be concerned; Evan had more or less spurned his attempt at reconciliation. But he cared too much to ignore him.

Ron seemed not to be too occupied with Evan at all, save for his continued efforts to shut down any gossip about them when he found it, and didn’t notice how often Harry stared at him, or how gloomy he was being. Hermione, however, was a different story.

“You’re a bit quieter than usual, Harry,” she said one day, as the two of them and Ron were sitting in the common room finishing off a Potions essay. “Are you alright?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Alright? Have you seen my life lately?”

As if to prove his point, a couple of boys flitted past Harry extremely quickly, looking at him oddly. Ron scowled up at them. “What do you think he’s going to do? Start snogging you if you don’t walk fast enough?”

They hurried off, whispering fiercely.

“Probably think I’ll turn them gay just by looking at them or something,” Harry said dejectedly, throwing down his quill. “It’s what everyone’s saying. They’re not even subtle about it anymore.”

Indeed, since Cormac McLaggen, a very popular (if unpleasant) seventh-year, had dared call him a poofter to his face, many others were now also daring to do so, or were at least using such words in less quiet voices than they had before. No matter how many times he heard it, Harry felt a stab of pain to his gut.

“It’ll pass,” Ron said, distractedly. He was barely listening, focusing too much on his malfunctioning Spell-Checking Quill which was turning his essay into an incoherent mess. “Just don’t give them any ammunition.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to avoid that. He was in most of Evan’s classes, saw him every day; even the very presence of the two of them in the same room was enough to set off new whispers. He’d heard everything from he and Evan having been seen coming out of a room together in the Three Broomsticks, to Evan apparently waiting for hours outside the Gryffindor common room for Harry to appear (and the reverse being told by the Gryffindors about Harry and the Hufflepuff common room), Harry having apparently used a Love Potion on the emotionless Evan, and even that Harry had only made the England team because he’d been sleeping with him. They got more and more graphic each day, and each rumour, no matter how outlandish, hurt him more than it should as people treated his private life and personal struggles with as little consideration as if they were events in some raunchy romance novel. He was only grateful that Karlsson’s threat to reveal their kiss to the papers had not yet been followed through on.

After a while, Ron gave up on his essay and went to bed, leaving Harry and Hermione to finish theirs alone. Harry was making little progress; his eyes were on two girls sitting a little way away who were deep in conversation. Some of it reached him over the now much quieter common room.

“D’you reckon it’s true?”

“Must be. They say he was all over him when Snape had jinxed him. Very handsy, if you know what I mean.”

“Such a shame. He’d be a great catch.”

“I know! What a waste. You’d never think a bloke like him would be a queer.”

Harry stiffened as he heard this and did not relax again until the two girls had gone up to bed. He looked up and saw Hermione watching him, a look of pity on her face.

“How do you deal with it, Hermione?” he asked her, not even going to pretend that he was alright. “When people call you a Mudblood?”

She grimaced. “I don’t really,” she said, “it always hurts. But I just tell myself to ignore it, brush it off, because their opinions don’t matter. I love my parents, and I’m not ashamed of where I come from.”

“Wish I could do that,” Harry said, thinking of Evan. “But every time I hear one of those words … it’s like … I’ve become something disgusting.”

“I know,” Hermione said softly. “Me too.” She put down her quill, and her expression became much shrewder. She inched a little closer and dropped her voice. “Harry,” she said, sounding hesitant as she met his eyes gently, “those words … do they bother you so much because … because the rumours are true?”

He looked at her a long moment, wondering if he should just come out with it, get it over with. He was tired of all this, especially of hiding it from the people he cared most about. It was what Evan wanted him to do. She was looking at him so kindly, no judgement in her eyes. It’d be such a relief …

Harry opened his mouth, ready to say the words—and they caught in his throat. Hermione’s eyes narrowed at his hesitation. He could almost see her incredibly fast brain hard at work. She had never looked at him so intently …

“I’m not gay, Hermione,” he found himself saying, his voice so quiet it could barely be heard. “I’m not.”

Hermione’s eyes widened a little, and Harry could see he had not convinced her. He had never sounded so unsure before when denying it.

Desperate to get away before she could ask the question again, and see him possibly break down and reveal all, he hurriedly got all his stuff together, shoved it in his bag and practically ran up he dormitory stairs, leaving Hermione sitting where he had left her.

Ron was already snoring by the time Harry got into bed. He lay awake for hours, running over that word in his head. Was he gay?

He’d always dismissed it, believing that his attraction to Cho had been proof he was not. But maybe it had been Cho who had been the fluke, the ‘experiment’, for lack of a better word and Evan was first person he’d seriously been attracted to.

Or was he that word Lupin had told him … bisexual? That one seemed slightly more like him, but he still wasn’t sure it fit. He longed to be able to write to Lupin and ask him about this, but with the Aurors, including Tonks, checking the mail, he would rather not. There was no way he could ask Dumbledore.

He punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape and moved onto his side, drawing his legs up to his chest, remembering again how it had felt to fall asleep next to Evan. He _needed_ to figure this out.

Evan wouldn’t have anything to do with him until he did.

* * *

Harry had taken to bringing out the Marauder’s Map most nights when he left the common room, and watched the little dot marked ‘Evander Turner’ for hours upon end, even when all it did was stay statically in the Hufflepuff dormitories. Despite being annoyed that Evan was literally on the opposite side of the castle from him, Harry knew if that he’d been sorted into Gryffindor and had to share _his_ room, there’d be a lot more awkward mornings than there were even now.

He also noticed that Evan left the dormitories at night, miraculously evading capture somehow and heading out into the grounds for hours. Harry didn’t need to ask to know what these escapes were for. He knew Evan would have felt the need to venture into nature, possibly to meditate and escape the stone walls of the castle. Several nights, Harry thought about joining him.

One Saturday, Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting out beneath a tree near the front doors, enjoying the rapidly diminishing summer as they completed some homework, when Ron suddenly sat up and looked across the lawns.

“What’s Hagrid doing?”

Harry and Hermione looked up, and they saw Hagrid coming out of the forest with a large sack in his arms. This itself was not unusual, but the sight of his companion was. Evan was walking beside Hagrid, and to Harry’s surprise and delight, he was talking quite freely, even smiling. Harry stared at him. _I’ve missed that smile so much_.

Evan appeared not to notice them, but helped Hagrid carry a second sack and deposited it in his hut, before hurrying off in the direction of the Quidditch pitch, where Harry could see some yellow-robed players beginning to take to the air. Harry felt like a brick had dropped into his stomach. Evan was on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team now. How had he missed that?

“That was weird,” Ron said, staring after him. “He was _talking._ And _smiling._ ”

“Yes, well, Harry has told you before that Evan is, in fact, human,” Hermione said irritatedly, finishing her final essay with a flourish. “Why are you always so surprised?”

“Because I never see him do it!”

“I think that says more about you and how you treat him than it does about him,” Hermione said testily, packing up her bag. “ _I’ve_ seen him smile several times in Ancient Runes. He’s actually really nice when you get him talking.”

“Nice?” Ron said sceptically, even as Harry felt a wash of pleasure that Hermione was the one defending Evan. “I sat next to him for forty-five minutes in Charms the other day when Flitwick made us all split up. Didn’t say a word. And what d’you mean how I treat him?”

“Well, that for instance!” Hermione looked pretty flushed. “Did you try saying anything to _him?_ ”

“Why would I?” Ron asked. His eyes narrowed. “Why are you so keen so defend him anyway?”

“You’re just being really unfair, Ron!” Hermione said, frowning, though Harry thought her eyes had flicked towards him for a brief moment. “You judge people far too quickly.”

Harry sat very still, not wanting to get in on this argument. Hermione’s subtle glance at him; did that mean something?

“I’m not judging anyone.” Ron objected. “But he’s suspicious! Why’d he come here when he had a Quidditch career going on? What’s such an unfriendly bloke off doing in the forest with Hagrid?”

“For goodness sake, Ron,” Hermione sighed in exasperation. “If you want to know, let’s just go and _ask.”_

Before they could say anything else, Hermione had turned on her heel and was marching down to Hagrid’s. Harry and Ron exchanged a glance before they too were quickly packing their bags up and racing after her. They drew up just as Hermione had reached Hagrid, who was standing outside his front door. He was smiling cheerfully at them all.

“Hullo, you three! Bin a while since I seen you lot down here!”

“What were you doing with _him?_ ” Ron asked immediately, jerking his head in the direction that Evan had just left in.

Hagrid’s smile fell. “Yeh mean Evan? He’s bin helpin’ me with some sick unicorns in the forest. Dab hand with animals he is. An’ he is the _on’y_ one in me NEWT class.”

Here he gave them all a severe look telling them he had not quite forgiven them for dropping his subject.

“But it’s a Saturday!” Ron said, frowning. “Why’s he helping you now?”

“He offered,” Hagrid said, shrugging. “Dead interested in magical creatures he is. Fascinated when I told him abou’ Aragog an’ he’s helped me with some food for him, but he can’ go near him cause of all the rest of them getting a bit antsy now he’s sick. Told me he’d bin in Borneo an’ seen some acromantula in the wild over there. From a distance, o’ course. He’s bin all over the world he has.”

“Yeah, he told me,” Harry said, stunned by what he was hearing. He’d known Evan had a fascination for magical creatures, but he’d had no idea it extended this much. Evan’s eyes lighting up by that river in Ireland as he’d spoken about it flashed in his memory. He felt a little unsettled as he realised how friendly Evan and Hagrid had gotten without him even realising. It appeared that Evan, unlike Harry, was not pining away miserably in the dormitory every chance he got. The thought that Evan had offered to help Hagrid like this, even with the unsavoury task of helping the dying Aragog, made him feel terrible; he himself had not offered, though Hagrid was one of his dearest friends. Evan, who barely knew him, had already done so. He was a much better person than Harry was.

Hagrid turned his eyes on Harry.

“He told me the two of yeh saw some Grindylows in the river around the Players’ Lodge in Ireland when yeh sneaked out.”

Harry nodded, thinking back to that wonderful day, the first when he had noticed just how incredible he found Evan’s smile and enthusiasm for life, when he had helped Harry to meditate his troubles away. “Yeah, yeah we did.”

“Musta bin very lucky,” Hagrid said. “They on’y go in rivers to breed, an’ that’s on’y one week a year. The Irish variety are pretty rare.”

“Yeah, lucky,” Harry said faintly, still lost in thought.

“Why don’ you hang around with him anymore?” Hagrid’s face had creased into a frown.

When Harry failed to answer for a second, Ron interjected.

“He’s _weird_ , Hagrid!”

Hagrid’s frown turned into a scowl as he looked down at Ron. “He ain’ nothin’ o’ the sort. Bit shy at firs’, maybe, but mention a magical creature an’ he becomes a real chatterbox.”

Harry nodded, thinking again of how Evan had been so excited to see the Grindylows, a creature Harry found completely unremarkable.

Hagrid’s eye turned on Harry again. “He seems a bit lonely though,” his voice almost sounded reproachful. “He said yeh used ter be good friends. Why aren’ yeh now? He wouldn’ say.”

Harry’s heart ached. By that very river, Evan had told him how lonely he was, how Harry had been the first person to really take any notice of him. And now neither of them would look at each other.

“It—it’s just weird, isn’t it?” he said, squirming uncomfortably. “All these rumours …”

It was a pathetic excuse, and both he and Hagrid knew it.

“Pfft!” he scoffed. “Why should tha’ stop yeh? Look how you lot acted when the story abou’ me mum came out—you lot told me not to hide in me hut, all ashamed like, no matter wha’ people said. Yeh didn’t abandon me then. If he’s yer friend, yeh shouldn’ forget about him.”

He was right. Harry felt shame rippling through his entire body, and not in the same way those cruel jibes of others set it off.

“But Hagrid,” Ron protested, “he _fancies Harry!”_

“So?” Hagrid frowned at him again, raising himself to his full height. “What if he does? So does half the school, and probably a good slice o’ the other half too withou’ realisin’. Didn’ think you lot were the sorta people to let somethin’ like tha’ bother yeh.”

He leaned down a little towards Harry, eyes glittering behind his heavy eyebrows. “He needs a friend, Harry. An’ yer the on’y one he has.”

And without another word, he stomped off to his hut, leaving Harry feeling both incredibly reprimanded and ashamed, but also with a new sense of encouragement.

* * *

“I hope you were listening to what Hagrid said,” Hermione said, a little smugly as they headed back to the castle after going on a long walk around the lake. The Hufflepuff Quidditch team were returning to the castle at the same time, and Evan was visible a little way away.

Ron glanced at him. “Look, I don’t mean him any harm. I’m sure he’s an okay guy when you get to know him. But Harry doesn’t want the rumours getting any worse, does he?”

They both looked to Harry, but he was barely listening. Zacharias Smith and a couple of the other team members were a little way ahead of him in the Entrance Hall, laughing and joking in a way Harry did not completely like.

He droned out the bickering of the other two as he drew closer and heard what Smith was saying.

“—course I wasn’t too happy about it. But what could I do?”

“Get another player?” one of his companions suggested. “One that isn’t … you know?”

“He’s literally one of the best Keepers in Europe,” Smith said, rolling his eyes. “He’s an actual _professional._ You saw him over the summer too. How could I say no?”

“So you’re just going to have to put up with it then, aren’t you?”

“I suppose,” Smith grumbled, glancing back towards Evan, who Harry realised was very close, and probably within hearing range. “Just better stay away from me, that’s all. I’ll be getting changed in the cubicle from now on, I’m telling you. Don’t want to give him any ideas—”

Smith was interrupted when he gave a loud yelp as he was yanked up in the air by his ankle. The hall roared with laughter as he hung there upside down, robes spilling over his head, pink face barely visible from between the folds. He crumpled to the floor a moment later, looking quite disgruntled and casting around wildly for the source of the spell.

“That was you, wasn’t it?” Ron muttered to him, as Smith adjusted his robes and raced off for the common room. “One of the Prince’s spells? Why’d you do that?”

Harry shrugged, realising that Ron hadn’t heard Smith’s remarks. “It’s him, isn’t it? He’s an obnoxious git.”

Ron chuckled and left it at that, completely buying his explanation. Most people had moved on, their amusement over, and no one seemed to care who had done it. Except the person standing a few feet away from Harry who was staring at the wand which was discretely held in his right hand.

Evan looked at it, and then up to Harry’s face. The mask dropped, and he gave a slight smile, tiny by comparison to his usual dazzling one, but still enough to still have Harry’s head buzzing when he went into dinner a few minutes later.

Harry glanced over at Evan several times during dinner. Hagrid was right. He shouldn’t allow rumours to stop him from being his friend. If Evan didn’t want anything more than that … so be it, but Harry would be there for him regardless. Evan was lonely, Hagrid had said so, and he’d seen the misery in his eyes for himself the other night. He wasn’t about to let Evan suffer.

Harry had had always regarded loyalty to friends as one of his most valued qualities; he wasn’t going to let a few gossips and slurs destroy his chance to demonstrate that.

It was time he had a proper talk with Evan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> The next chapter is called 'A Conversation by the Lake'. Make of that what you will ...😉


	32. A Conversation by the Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments! Sorry for the slight delay in uploading this. I've been doing some heavy edits to this chapter over the last couple of days.

Harry waited until Ron was asleep that night before he pulled out the Marauder’s Map, hoping desperately that he was right and Evan would be out on the grounds. He was. Evan was sitting down by the lake, and he was alone.

Not stopping to overthink things, Harry swiftly got out of bed, still fully dressed in his robes and grabbed his Invisibility Cloak. Never had his journey through the castle been so fast, and before long he was walking across the rolling front lawns guided only by the light of the moon. He had already seen the figure sitting down by the lake and his heart quickened. He had so much to say, and he knew he was going to stumble over most of it, but it had to be said.

Evan did not look up as he approached. He was sitting down in a small dip in the lawn which was shielded from the view of the castle and gazing across the lake, where the stars were mirrored on its inky black surface. Harry could have admired that sight for hours; Evan’s expression of complete calm, the wonder in his eyes, the way the moonlight shone off his hair. But he had things to say and he could put it off no longer.

Drawing a deep breath, he took the Cloak off and dropped it to the ground. The flicker of motion seemed to have caught Evan’s eye for he sprang to his feet, reaching for his wand immediately. He froze when he saw Harry.

Harry stared at him for a second, taking in how _perfect_ he looked standing there, how much he felt for him, how much he was ashamed of how he had behaved. He tried to fight back the rising emotions inside of him which threatened to burst forth in the form of tears; he had to get through this. He had to explain everything to Evan. It might not fix things, it might even make them worse, but he owed Evan an explanation. Regardless of the outcome.

“You said to come find you when I was ready to not hide who I am,” Harry began, voice shaking, “but I can’t do that. Not yet. Because I don’t know, Evan. Everything I thought I knew about myself has completely changed, and not just because of you, because of this bloody prophecy and everything that comes along with it. I told you before how much I struggle with everything that’s happened to me, and this, this thing between us, as _amazing_ as it is, it comes with its own problems which—I’m sorry, I just don’t know _how_ to handle yet. You might be really confident with who you are and not be afraid to admit it, but I’m not. I don’t _know_ who I am _._ I have no idea if I’m gay, or bisexual, or whatever else and I’m still trying to figure it out. I’m just not as strong as you. I wish I was, but I’m not.”

Evan had gone very still, watching Harry with increasingly wide eyes, but he said nothing, which Harry took as leave to continue. His voice and hands were shaking more with every word he spoke.

“This is _hard_ for me, Evan. I’ve lived my whole life in the magical world in the spotlight and I’ve got this weight pressing down on me all the time. There are things going on right now that I’m not even allowed to tell you about but are literally scaring me to death. Things that could actually kill me. I’ve got _Voldemort_ after me; do you have any idea what that’s like? In the last two years I’ve had to watch two people I know die and know it was my fault they were even there in the first place. And you—you helped me through some of that in the summer. You have no idea how much that meant to me. I’ve told you things I haven’t even told my best friends. You’re the only one around at the moment I feel like I _can_ tell everything to.”

Evan was blinking rapidly, but he still said nothing, and Harry ploughed on, voice growing ever more broken as tears started at his eyes.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve been. I _really_ am. I’ve been horrible and selfish, and Hagrid basically told me as much. I’ve lied and kept secrets and tried to write you off as just another member of the team when you’re so much more than that just because I was too scared to admit the truth. You mean so much to me, but I’ve hurt you, and that absolutely kills me, because that’s the last thing I would ever want to do to you.”

Harry took another deep breath, a couple of tears now leaking from his eyes. “I want you in my life, Evan. You make everything so much brighter. But … I—I’m not ready to be out. I can’t handle that on top of everything else at the moment. I know this isn’t what you want to hear … I know you don’t want to keep this secret. It’s not fair to you, I know that. So—if you don’t want anything more … that—that’s fine. Or – or if you just want to be friends … that’s okay too. Just – please, don’t cut me out of your life completely. Please … _please_ … just try and understand … and please don’t hate me for not being ready.”

Harry was finished, and a good thing too because he thought his voice might give out completely. He was breathing heavily, mind a tumultuous mess as all those mixed up feelings and emotions had come spilling out of him in a massive jumble of confused thought. He’d never been so open before. Ever. He just stood there, waiting for the inevitable axe to fall over his exposed heart.

Evan stared at him a full minute, eyes blinking away tears of his own. He too seemed to be finding it difficult to breathe steadily.

“Oh, Harry,” he said thickly. “I could _never_ hate you. How could you even think that?”

The next moment he’d come walked forwards and pulled Harry into a tight embrace which Harry fell into completely, clutching at the front of his robes in a pathetically childlike manner, hiding his tearstained face against his chest. Evan held him tightly rubbing his hand up and down his back soothingly, head to the side of Harry’s, reaching his other hand to rest against the back of Harry’s head as they swayed on the spot slightly. Harry could not even feel embarrassed. He was too desperate for that; gladly taking comfort in the warmth of Evan’s arms without any trace of mortification, pressing himself closer, desperate for his touch. He didn’t even care his glasses were pressing painfully against his nose. Evan was so strong, so safe, so gentle, Harry needed him more than even he had realised until now. He never wanted to let go.

“I’m sorry, Evan,” Harry murmured against him. “I’m so sorry.”

Evan’s hand slipped down to his face, holding it tenderly, thumb gently stroking across his cheek, wiping away the remnants of tears. He was pressing his lips to Harry’s head repeatedly, his hair, forehead, temple, murmuring gently.

“It’s okay, Harry,” he said, voice muffled against the skin. “It’s okay.”

Harry’s shudders began to subside, and he removed his head from Evan’s robes, stepping back slightly, but still within the encircling reach of Evan’s arms. Evan kissed him on the forehead again, right where the scar was, and Harry shivered. He ran his own hands up Evan’s arms to his shoulders, and Evan brought their heads together, so that their foreheads touched. They remained like that a moment, feeling the heat of each other’s breath against their face until Harry felt a sweeping calm descend over him, as though infected by the sheer inner strength within Evan.

Evan stroked his cheek again, and then put his hand under Harry’s chin to tilt it up, giving him one short, but sweet kiss on the lips, pressing ever so gently. He lingered for a moment, before taking Harry’s hand.

“Come on,” he murmured, “sit with me.”

Harry followed him and they sat down in the sunken area where Evan had been. Unlike their times in the woods around the Lodge, Evan sat right by Harry’s side, making sure their bodies were touching and took both of Harry’s hands in his own to rub them softly.

“Thank you,” he said gently, looking down at their hands. “Thank you for telling me. For being honest.”

Harry nodded jerkily. “I had to get it out.”

“I’m glad you did,” Evan said, smiling a little, though he too sounded emotional. “It’s helped clear a few things up.”

“Like what?”

“Like why you’re so determined to avoid something we both so obviously want,” Evan said, tracing his fingers over Harry’s. “I couldn’t understand it. I’ve never been ashamed of being gay. I guess I was raised not to think anything of it. I couldn’t understand why you were so reluctant.”

“I don’t really know either,” Harry said, watching their fingers intertwining, soothed and encouraged by the sight of the security bracelet which was still around Evan’s wrist, matching his own. “I can’t really put it in words. I’m not ashamed, not really. There’s just so much of everything on top of me right now. Handling everyone knowing … gossiping … it scares me.”

“You think people wouldn’t talk about you at any other time?” Evan said with a trace of amusement. “Harry, you’re the Boy Who Lived.”

“Of course not, but that’s different,” Harry sighed. He traced circles on Evan’s palm with this thumb. “That’s not … as personal. I know it doesn’t make sense. But I’ve not got the best of experiences of being in the public eye. And with everything else –”

He hesitated, wondering if he should say this next part. He technically wasn’t supposed to.

“The prophecy,” he said, biting the bullet. “This Chosen One stuff. I’ve literally got the fate of the wizarding world on my shoulders, and all this is coming at a really overwhelming time.”

Evan’s hand had tightened around his. “Then it’s true?” he asked, breathlessly. “The prophecy …”

“Yes,” he said, feeling Evan’s grip grow even tighter. He sighed and thought about all Dumbledore’s warnings. “I can’t tell you any more at the moment. Not without talking to Dumbledore. But … the _Daily Prophet_ isn’t too far off the mark with it.”

“Harry, I—”

Evan broke off, and Harry looked up to see a pained look in his eyes. “What you said—about things actually killing you—”

Harry nodded, hating the expression of fear on Evan’s face. This was as bad as telling Ron and Hermione. “I’m coming to terms with it,” he said, wanting to ease his worry. “And with—with losing Sirius and everything else. Coming to terms with my sexuality at the same time … with the entire country talking about it while I’m trying to figure it out … can you understand why I’m feeling like I can’t handle it all at once?”

To his relief, Evan nodded. Evan clutched his hands tightly again, leaning in a little. “I’m sorry,” he said, eyes swimming. “I’m sorry if I put pressure on you when you weren’t ready. I guess I’m just as bad at reading you sometimes as I am others. I thought – I thought you were maybe … just messing me around. It’s happened before.”

Evan hung his head, cheeks reddening slightly. “One of the players at the Arrows,” he mumbled. “My first crush. He led me on a bit, let me think he was gay, and then got rid of me when the girl he wanted became available. I didn’t think you were like that, but still … I was worried you were just denying everything because you hated the very idea of being gay, like he did. And that upset me. The entire thing left me even more wary about opening up to others, and then when you—.”

Evan broke off, and Harry felt a stab of pain as he realised just how much his rejection of Evan at King’s Cross would have hurt because of this incident. He was more ashamed than ever.

“I don’t hate the idea of it,” Harry said, ducking his head a little, so he could still see Evan’s face. He glossed over his anger at the thought of that player, the one he presumed had been the one to confirm Evan’s sexuality to the press. “I just wasn’t ready to announce it to the world. Especially since I’m still trying to figure out if I’m gay or bisexual. Until I met you Evan, I was completely convinced I was straight. I was just barely starting to get my head around the fact that I fancied a boy and figure out what to do and then suddenly it was all over the papers and all anyone could talk about. And then there were so many people laughing at it, or gossiping about it or making up rumours that it just felt like too much to try and handle. It definitely wasn’t that I hated the thought I could be gay, it was the fact that the whole country knew it before even I knew for sure.”

Evan nodded. His grip on Harry’s hands loosened a little and he began caressing them again, lifting them up to press his lips to them briefly.

“I can get that,” he said. “As little as I care that other people know I’m gay, I still appreciate privacy, and I get that we’d have pretty much none of it, being who we are. You’ve dealt with all this media attention much longer than I have. No one really knew who I was till March. If you say you can’t handle it for now, that’s okay. I can wait until you can.”

Harry could have wept with gratitude. As it was, he just threw his arms around Evan once again, and was overjoyed when Evan hugged him back. Harry was trembling, and it seemed like Evan was too.

Harry pulled back. “I’m sorry I didn’t write in the summer,” he said, finally getting this off his chest. “I was sorting through a lot of stuff and then the article came out and – it got hard. I was so torn and confused. I waited too long. If we’d talked before—we could have sorted all this out sooner.”

Evan nodded, taking Harry’s hand again. “And I’m sorry for not writing too. I was starting to doubt whether you really liked me or not. That other guy left me really insecure about it. I’ve never done a relationship before, not like you have. I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“I don’t think you could define what Cho and I had as a relationship,” Harry said darkly, but he smiled. “I was feeling the same. How stupid were we? Guess we’re both not so good with words.”

Evan smiled, a large wonderful smile which sent Harry’s heart skipping. “Good thing we’re good with other things.”

He learned forwards and brought Harry into another kiss, and Harry could have just melted on the spot it was so good. It was far too short however, and when Evan pulled back, Harry still had a fluttery feeling in his chest, longing for more.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Evan said, looking down at his robes, and smiling in a new way. “I think you look really hot in your uniform.”

Harry felt himself blushing, and the fluttery feeling grew. “I’ve been thinking exactly the same thing about you.”

Evan laughed, and this time, their kiss was longer, though still left Harry wanting more.

“What are you really doing here?” Harry asked him, when they’d finished. He gestured around the dark grounds back to the castle. “I’ve been watching you. You don’t seem to be enjoying school.”

Evan winced a little. “It is a bit overwhelming with how loud and crowded it is,” he admitted. “But I’m getting used to it. Coming out here helps me.” He looked around at the grounds, the shimmering lake under the stars, the distant black line which was the Forest. “You never mentioned how beautiful the grounds were. I like it here, mostly. The classes are interesting, especially Care of Magical Creatures. I like Hagrid.”

Harry grinned. “He’s the one who told me I was a wizard, you know. He’s a good friend. Told me I was basically being a bad friend for abandoning you. He’s the reason I came out here.”

“Then I like him even more,” Evan said, kissing his hands again. “And the Hufflepuffs are nice, mostly. Ernie’s great, even if he’s a bit …”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed. “I know what you mean.”

“And I got on the team,” Evan said, chuckling. “They just about fainted when I showed up. Didn’t even have to try out. They’re mostly a great team, but some are a bit less nice. But then, you knew that, didn’t you?” He looked at Harry with a knowing smirk. “That _was_ you who levitated Smith, right?”

Harry nodded, also smirking. “He deserved it. He’s hated me for ages.”

Evan’s eyes grew softer, and he ran his fingers down the side of Harry’s face. “I liked having you defend me,” he said, smiling again. “With Smith, Malfoy, Snape … it gave me hope each time. You’re braver than you think, Harry. You’ve handled so much already. You’ll be able to handle telling everyone one day.”

Harry nodded, believing him entirely. Here, under a sky of stars, with Evan’s hand on his face, he would believe anything.

“Does anyone know, Harry?”

“Kingsley,” Harry said. “He was watching us at the Lodge and figured it out.”

“The Auror?”

“Yeah, he’s uh—" Harry broke off, wondering how to get around the subject of the Order of the Phoenix. “—a friend of the Weasleys, who I stay with. And Lupin, who was a friend of my dad’s. He was trying to help me understand everything. And … uh, Dumbledore.”

Evan nodded. “Yes, I got the impression he knew from the comments he made when I met him about coming here. He’s quite clever, isn’t he?”

Harry chuckled. “You have no idea. Well, apart from them … Karlsson apparently saw us at the Lodge and tried to blackmail me, but she’s been stopped for now by Tonks, who found the blackmail letter. She’s another Auror friend of mine.”

“How many do you have?”

“A few,” Harry said, offhandedly, hoping he’d get the chance to explain the Order someday. “It’s what I’m sort of working towards being one day. If the Quidditch thing doesn’t work out.”

_Or just until Voldemort’s gone_ , he refrained from saying, not to upset Evan, but he seemed to understand the unspoken comment. He nodded solemnly.

“I’ve thought about being a magizoologist,” he said, blushing a little. “I love creatures so much, and travelling. For, you know, maybe afterwards. I don’t think I’ll play Quidditch all my life.”

“You’d be great at it from what Hagrid says,” Harry says, making Evan blush deeper.

“Yes, well,” he said, looking pleased. “I’ve still got the Arrows waiting on me first. And I love Quidditch too.”

“Then why come here?” Harry asked, bewildered. “You didn’t answer me earlier. Why not just stay playing for the team?”

Evan drew a deep breath, and to his surprise, was blushing again.

“A bunch of reasons,” he said. “I wanted to get used to the real world, you know? I lived in isolation for so long, and my time with the Arrows, and England, taught me that there’s so much I need to learn about the world. And … at the Lodge, you made this place sound so amazing. I’ve been wanting to come here for so long, but my mum and dad always said I couldn’t, that I was too damaged, and I wouldn’t be accepted. Then you told me about Dumbledore.”

Evan came a little closer, squeezing Harry’s hand tighter. “You made me think, maybe I _can_ be normal, at least a little. I thought maybe I could be in the real world without always freaking out or having flashbacks, and that Dumbledore would accept me for who I was. And also … that if I came here, you’d be here too, and I’d have at least one person on my side. The main reason, Harry … is you.”

Harry listened with increasing wonder, hardly able to believe all his feeble hopes had been based on a solid foundation. Evan _had_ come here because of him.

“I’ve always gone after what I want, Harry,” he said, holding Harry’s face in his hands. “I think that’s partly why I found it so hard to understand when it looked like you were hiding from what you wanted. When I was a kid, I wanted to get myself better, and I did, with a lot of years of therapy. When I wanted to learn magic and my parents said I couldn’t, I did it anyway in secret until they let me. When I wanted to play Quidditch, I convinced them to trust me. When I wanted to play for England, I pushed back my fear of failing and went after it. And when I came to Hogwarts … it was because I wanted _you_. I wasn’t going to give up after King’s Cross. I came to be near you, and to convince you not to deny things any more.” He smiled a little sheepishly. “I just might not have done a very good job of it till now. I was still too hurt, and a bit angry. Didn’t realise till I got here that I didn’t have a clue what to do. Sorry.”

Harry had no time for an apology like that. He was too elated at the thought of Evan coming all the way here, giving up Quidditch, putting himself into an uncomfortable situation just for him. He grabbed Evan and kissed him enthusiastically, and Evan laughed into the kiss as Harry pulled him down until they were lying down, Harry on the grass, Evan kneeling above, sending Harry’s body into overdrive as he felt Evan’s body so close to his.

Evan more than returned Harry’s enthusiasm, and leaned down eagerly into Harry’s kisses, which were slow and steady, but laced with passion. It wasn’t as comfortable as the bed in London; they were chilly, the grass was damp and both were wearing all their clothes plus cloaks, but it was just as exhilarating for Harry as it had been then. Evan’s hands were soon reaching under his clothes to run his hand along his chest, his stomach, touching skin to skin, and Harry did likewise, unable to believe that this was happening again after so long.

Breathless, they finally broke apart, and Evan hung over him, eyes gleaming with pleasure. He grinned and Harry’s breath left him.

“I could get used to this,” he said, coming to lie beside him, head tilted to rest on his shoulder as he caught his breath. Neither of them cared their cloaks were now filthy with the damp soil. “Could you?”

Harry nodded, awed by just how perfect this seemed; despite their clothes being muddy, backs pressed uncomfortably against slippery grass and numerous small stones, and shivering in the chilly breeze, he was happier than he’d been in weeks to be lying side by side with him, Evan’s head on his shoulder.

“Will we?” he asked, “Get used to it, I mean. I know you didn’t want this to be a secret.”

Evan was quiet for a long moment, before turning his head to look up at Harry, and reaching up with one hand to make Harry face him. His face was serious, but still as wonderfully gentle as it always was when they were alone together.

“You’re right that I didn’t want to date someone who wasn’t out,” he said. “I’d learned my lesson after last time. But, Harry, I care about you too much to lose you, or force you into doing something you’re really not ready for. Just answer this: do you like me?”

“Yes,” Harry said straight away.

“Do you _want_ to be with me? Properly?”

“Yes,” Harry said again, not even considering it while looking into those eyes, throwing aside all the doubts which had been plaguing him for weeks.

“Good, because I do too. And we can work with that.” Evan smiled softly, tracing the shape of Harry’s mouth with his finger, making him shiver. “You need time. I can respect that. If you want, we can be friends in public. Help you and others get used to us being seen together. Give you time to learn to deal with the gossip. People already think we’re a couple anyway.”

Evan quickly stretched up and pressed a kiss on the end of his nose. He smiled, and though it was a warm smile, a shadow of worry was in his eyes. “In private, we can be whatever you want. All I ask, is that you don’t keep me secret forever. I don’t want to be hidden like I’m something shameful. You need to tell your friends at least. Not soon, if you don’t want to. But before they find out another way.”

Harry nodded; though the idea of telling Ron and Hermione was terrifying, he could agree to it for the sake of this incredible thing they had between them, especially when Evan was looking at him like that. He didn’t know how, or when, but he would.

“I will,” he said, softly. His heart started hammering. “I’ll tell everyone. I promise. Definitely no later than Christmas.”

Evan grinned. “So, I might get to kiss you under the mistletoe then?”

“Do you need mistletoe?”

“Good point.”

They came together in another kiss, much gentler and softer than before. Harry sighed as he fell back with his head on the grass, looking up at the stars. They had never seemed more beautiful before.

“Hey, Evan,” he murmured, nudging him, from his position back on his shoulder. “You’re good at Astronomy, right?”

“Mmhmm. O at OWL. Couldn’t take it this year because of the timetable.”

“Well, I got an A,” Harry said. “Exam got a bit disrupted when four Aurors tried to arrest Hagrid and instead almost killed Professor McGonagall.”

“This school is crazy.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, grinning as he agreed. “Anyway, mind pointing out a few of those stars for me? I forgot a few of their names.”

He could almost feel Evan’s excitement rippling from his body into Harry’s from where their bodies lay against each other. And as Evan began his recitation of the names of the stars, including all the stories and myths behind them, Harry had never felt more at peace in his life.


	33. Getting Reacquainted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone's comments! Each one seriously brightens up my day 😊

It was very late by the time Harry got back to the dormitory, in fact, the sky had begun to lighten when he had walked back up to the castle with Evan under the Invisibility Cloak, and the sun had fully risen after he’d said a very long goodbye to him outside the Hufflepuff common room. He rushed up to his dormitory and quickly got into his pyjamas, jumping beneath the covers just before the other occupants of the room began to stir. Harry feigned sleep, even though his heart was racing. He concealed his smile beneath the covers.

He was still so buzzing from the night’s exploits he didn’t even feel tired during breakfast, especially whenever his eye crossed to the Hufflepuff table to see Evan watching him, the slightest of smiles on his lips. Harry and Ron soon left to go to Quidditch practice, and Harry’s mind was just not on it at all. His fatigue caught up with him after a while, and he was yawning heavily by the time they walked back up to the castle.

“What’s up with you today?” Ron asked him. “Why are you so tired?”

“Didn’t get much sleep,” Harry said, trying not to blush as he remembered the previous night.

“Oh,” Ron said, looking at a crowd of Ravenclaws who were watching them in the Entrance Hall, whispering about him. “These rumours getting to you so much?”

“There’s other things in my life I’m worried about too you know,” Harry said, slightly irritated, as they climbed the marble staircase. “I do have Voldemort and all the forces of evil after me.”

Ron flinched at Voldemort’s name. “I suppose,” he said. “You never really get a break, do you?”

“No,” Harry said, sighing. “Not really. And rumours about being gay are the least of my worries with this prophecy business.”

Ron nodded, and said nothing more about it as they went upstairs. Deciding he was too tired to attempt going down to dinner, Harry tried to get some sleep instead, but his conversation with Ron lingered with him. There had been increasing numbers of reports of Voldemort’s attacks and more deaths were happening every day. Then there was Evan’s face as Harry had told him the prophecy was real. He was scared, and Harry realised how scared he was too. While he was starting to get used to the idea, the fear had never really gone away, not since he had heard those words: ‘ _neither can live while the other survives’._

He didn’t know if Dumbledore would be open to letting Evan in on the contents of the prophecy, or the Order of the Phoenix. But either way, he knew Evan would be worried. Him, in addition to Ron and Hermione … it made it harder to face knowing how afraid it would make them too.

Yes, worrying about his sexuality was starting to seem more and more insignificant. Harry doubted Voldemort would care if he was straight, gay or bisexual when he cast the curse which would end his life.

Trying not to think more about thoughts of dying, Harry closed his eyes and tried to sleep, conjuring up images of Evan instead.

* * *

The next morning, Harry read the _Daily Prophet_ with an even duller mood than usual as he read of more deaths. The rumours of him and Evan were still being printed but were now firmly relegated to the gossip columns instead of the front page, which was a small blessing. It certainly put things into perspective.

After a free period in which Hermione went off to Ancient Runes and he and Ron tackled their ever-growing mountain of homework which they hadn’t finished over the weekend, they headed down to Defence Against the Dark Arts, where Harry saw to his surprise that Hermione and Evan were deep in conversation outside the classroom. He drew up with Ron and was pleased to see Evan turn and smile at him.

“Oh hello, Harry, Ron,” Hermione said, turning to them, a shine to her eye. “Evan was just telling me about some temples he was in when he was in Nepal. They had _actual_ Ancient Runes on the walls there.”

“Really?” Ron said, sounding unenthused. His eyes were flicking suspiciously between the two of them.

“They’re still used among some of the Nepalese wizards,” Evan explained, unbothered by Ron’s reaction. “They taught me quite a lot.”

“It must have been fascinating to learn from people who actually use them,” Hermione said, eyes widening. “That’s the best way to learn a language, people say. Did you stay there long?”

“Two years,” Evan replied. “We travelled around the country, up in the Himalayas too. Then we crossed into Tibet for a while. Managed to catch a glimpse of a yeti when we were staying with the International Task Force stationed there. They’re supposed to manage all the Muggle sightings. It was back to India after that.”

“Wow!” Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Hermione so fascinated in another person. “You must have seen loads while you’ve travelled. Where else have you been?”

Evan shrugged, looking amused at her interest. “Lots of places. China, Borneo, Thailand, Laos, Sri Lanka, Russia, Finland, Estonia, Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Cyprus, Nigeria … and a few others. Some were only for a couple of weeks though. Nepal was the place I stayed the longest.”

“You forgot Ireland,” Harry pointed out. Evan turned to him.

“How could I forget that?” he said, smiling with a knowing look in his eye.

“You’re so lucky,” Hermione said enviously. “And you always stayed with wizards?”

“Mostly,” Evan said, “but sometimes with Muggles. We weren’t very social though. We stayed in pretty isolated spots.”

His cheeks tinged slightly pink at this, and Harry could guess why. He’d travelled so much because his parents were seeking alternative therapies for his uncontrollable magic and traumatic outbursts. He could easily imagine Evan being forced away from populated areas in case he proved dangerous, or his parents were embarrassed by Evan’s problems.

“No kidding,” Ron said. He wasn’t being openly hostile, but it was enough to irritate Harry.

“I think it’s great,” he said, not looking at Ron. “You were studying magical creatures as well, right? Being isolated would’ve helped with finding some.”

Evan looked at him gratefully. “Yes, it did.”

“Yeah, Hagrid mentioned,” Ron said. “Said the two of you were spying on mating Grindylows in Ireland or something. That what you did when you two sneaked off—looking at animals?”

Evan met Ron’s gaze evenly. “Among other things.”

Their conversation was halted when Snape arrived and they all filed into the classroom. Harry sat down next to Evan, much happier than he’d been that morning. Snape shot them both a filthy look, evidently still annoyed with them for what had happened a few lessons ago, but said nothing.

“You seem to be getting on well with Hermione,” Harry observed quietly, as they began their practical session.

Evan nodded, lifting his eyes to Harry’s. “I like her, and I see why you do too. She’s the only one trying to talk to me. Like you did.”

Harry smiled, happy that Evan so approved of her, and that Hermione was helping him feel so comfortable; he remembered how Evan had said that people rarely attempted to get to know him.

They had their wands out, though were not practicing like the rest of the class, just looking at each other.

“I’m really glad,” Harry said. “She’s one of my closest friends. And … I think she suspects.”

Evan flicked his eyes towards Hermione, who as usual, was performing perfect non-verbal spells. “Doesn’t surprise me. You were right when you said she was … what was it— ‘freakily smart?’ It makes sense that she guesses, and why she’s been making an attempt to get to know me.”

Harry also looked over at her, feeling a rush of affection towards her. He was beginning to realise just how supportive she would be when he was finally able to tell the truth. “I’m not worried about telling her,” he said, “it’s Ron I’m more worried about.”

Evan grimaced. He looked at Ron and then checked to see Snape was not nearby. “I can’t say I’ve got as much respect for him. Sorry.”

“I know,” Harry sighed, also checking on Snape. “He can be a bit … harder. But I swear, he’s a great friend.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

They fell into further quiet discussion, Harry glad he could finally take the opportunity of talking to Evan in public again. He found himself growing a little closer to him. Harry did not notice the skulking presence behind him.

“Well, it looks like Potter and Turner have more interesting things to do than the task they have been assigned,” Snape’s sneering voice broke over their conversation and brought the entire class to a standstill. “Tell me, is this a deeper discussion on the intricacies of non-verbal spellcasting, or a chance for the two of you to flirt some more?”

There were a few sniggers from the class, mostly from Malfoy, and Harry turned to see Snape looking down at them. Harry fought back a retort with difficulty. Evan however, did not.

“We weren’t flirting,” he replied clearly, looking unashamedly into Snape’s face.

Snape’s mouth grew tight. “Do you think that I do not know what flirting looks like, Mr Turner?”

Evan blinked. “Yes.”

Harry could not help it. He laughed, and he wasn’t the only one. Snape silenced the snickers with one cold glance. He looked back at Evan, eyes flashing.

“Ten points from both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor,” he said, glowering at them. “Now, I suggest you get on with your task. Have your sordid conversations on your own time, not mine.”

Harry and Evan began their work silently as Snape wandered off to bully Neville, but Harry couldn’t help but keep smiling, despite Snape’s words and the fact he was failing miserably at non-verbally repelling spells while Evan got through them with ease.

He lost track of Evan as the bell went and he and Ron headed up to the common room for their free period after break while Hermione was at Arithmancy. They took a seat by the window in the common room and got out their textbooks.

“What _were_ the two of you talking about?” Ron asked him, apparently having been sitting on this question for a while.

“Hermione,” Harry answered, slightly distracted as he looked out the window and could see Evan outside Hagrid’s hut for his Care of Magical Creatures lesson. “He thinks she’s really smart.”

“Well, obviously,” Ron said, a little miffed. “Wonder why she’s being all chummy with him all of a sudden? She knows she’s barking up the wrong tree, right?”

“She’s just being friendly,” Harry said, a little more sharply than he meant. “You could be too, you know.”

Ron stared at him, taken aback. “You mean, you _want_ to be friends with him?”

“Obviously,” Harry said, growing more annoyed by the second. “I wasn’t lying Ron—we really were good friends in the summer. And Hagrid made me see that I’ve been horrible by ignoring him until now just because of some stupid gossip.”

“But—” Ron looked bewildered. “You said you’d argued at the station. Did you make up? When?”

“During Snape’s detention,” Harry said, heart beating a little quicker. He could still see Evan out the window.

“But that was _before_ Hagrid spoke to us. Why d’you want to be friends with a bloke that fancies you? Won’t that just make it awkward—”

“Look, does it matter?” Harry asked quickly. “Hagrid’s right; he hasn’t got anyone else. And I don’t want to be the kind of person that drops someone because of some rumours. I know what it’s like to lose a friend at a time when everyone’s talking and spreading things about you.”

Ron flinched, knowing that Harry had been referring to the time when Ron had avoided Harry after the Goblet of Fire had picked Harry as Hogwarts Champion. He bit his lip and nodded.

Harry went back to his homework, glad to have settled it for now. He only wished Ron would be as accepting of Evan as Hermione was. He didn’t think he could tell him the whole truth until he was.

* * *

For the rest of the week, Harry continued to meet with Evan whenever he could. They always caught a few words of conversation standing outside classes, usually with Hermione also contributing, and Harry went to work with him in class whenever there was an opportunity, such as during Herbology when they worked at the same vegetable patches. Hermione seemed happy to include him in their friendship group and chatted happily to him about his travels and the magical creatures he’d seen, but Ron was less vocal, only chipping in occasionally with the barest of friendly enquiries, but it was at least better than before, which Harry was grateful for. Evan was not entirely comfortable in conversation and was still a bit stiff and formal, especially with Ron around, but he too was making an effort, and Harry liked him all the more for it.

The sight of Harry being more openly friendly towards him had caused an upsurge in gossip and cruel whispered conversations in the corridors, but Harry was doing his best not to listen to those. The taunts were growing worse, but Harry was made to feel ten times better by the sight of Evan each evening when they sneaked out of the castle for walks around the lake before they went to sleep. Every night he hung around the Hufflepuff common room in his Cloak, waited for Evan to appear and then grabbed him from behind and pulled him under for a kiss.

“You scare the life out of me every time you do that,” Evan said one night, as they stood together under the Cloak. He had his arms around Harry’s waist.

“D’you want me to stop?” Harry asked.

“Definitely not,” he laughed, kissing him again. “Let’s go.”

They walked out into the grounds, Harry checked with his Map to make sure there were no Aurors nearby; after their initial carelessness of the first night, he had begun to notice that the Aurors guarding the school sometimes did patrols at night.

“What is that thing?” Evan asked, as they finally made it down to a quiet, concealed spot by the lake.

Harry showed him. “It’s a map of the school. It shows you where everyone is.”

Evan’s eyebrows rose as he looked at it. “This is amazing. Where did you get it?”

“My dad and his friends made it,” Harry said, pointing out their names at the top. “This is what they called themselves. Moony is Lupin – you remember I told you about him? —because he’s a werewolf. My dad and the others learned to be Animagi in secret so they could be with him when he transformed. Prongs for my dad – he was a stag—, Padfoot for Sirius, —he was a dog—, and Wormtail … for Peter Pettigrew—a rat.”

Evan was looking more and more amazed. “They became Animagi when they were still at school? They must’ve been really loyal friends.”

“Most of them,” Harry said bitterly, looking at Wormtail’s name. Evan caught his tone.

“I heard that it was Pettigrew that betrayed your mum and dad,” Evan said, warily. “Is … is that true?”

Harry nodded, feeling the usual stab of pain and anger as he thought of him. “He was a coward. Turned them in for a bit of power. My dad trusted him with his life and he just …”

He stopped, and Evan came a little closer, slipping his arm around him. Harry breathed deeply. “He helped Voldemort come back,” he said, shaking as he thought of the graveyard. “He’s done terrible things, but the thing that gets me the most is how he could betray them like that.”

“It must be hard,” Evan murmured, rubbing his arm. “A man that your family trusted so much.” He glanced at Harry uncertainly. “You—you’ve never really mentioned your parents.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t remember them,” he said. “Except … when a Dementor is nearby. That’s when I hear them. Their last words. It’s not a good memory to have as your only one. I don’t really talk about them.” He waited a moment, gathering his nerve. “I saw them once. Or at least, shadows, memories of them. When I fought _him._ They came out of his wand. I spoke to them.”

He swallowed hard. He’d never really talked about this. Not to anyone. He’d told Dumbledore and Sirius after the Third Task in Dumbledore’s office, but no one since. Not even Ron and Hermione knew; all he’d told them was about seeing Cedric and the other couple of people.

“I can’t even imagine,” Evan said after a few moments. “As much as my parents drive me crazy sometimes, I couldn’t imagine my life without them.”

“You’re lucky to have them,” Harry said, clearing his throat before he started to get too emotional. “The Weasleys have been like my second family, but it’s not really the same thing. Sirius—he was like a dad to me for a while, and now he’s gone too. I just wish sometimes there was someone who was … mine, I guess. Ron’s mum and dad are great, but they have their own family. I just wish I had my own. Someone to talk to about … everything.”

“Your Muggle family aren’t supportive, I’m guessing.”

Harry snorted. He stared out across the lake. “They only agreed to let me take part in the Championship after they found out they’d get compensation if I died or got seriously injured. So, no, not really.”

Evan exhaled. “That’s sick. But what about this Lupin you mentioned? You said you talked to him in the summer?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, he’s great. But he’s got his own life and problems. He does a lot of dangerous work for Dumbledore. And he used to be my teacher. I guess I just attached myself to Sirius more since he was my godfather. But I guess, now … maybe things are different.”

“I hope so,” Evan said. He leaned across and kissed him on the cheek, making Harry smile. “And you have me too, you know.”

Harry turned his head and kissed him back, feeling his burdens lift slightly. Evan returned the kiss for a moment, before breaking it to lean back and look at Harry. His eyes were sparkling in the light of the moon.

“Lupin must have been scared about his friends finding out he was a werewolf,” he said softly. “He was lucky he had such great people as your dad and Sirius to support him.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, taking his point immediately. Lupin’s encouraging comments during the summer to let Ron and Hermione know the truth came back to him. “He was.”

Evan smiled, kissing him once on the forehead.

Harry took Evan’s hands in his. Thinking of Pettigrew had brought back memories of the graveyard, and talking of Sirius brought on the usual heavy weight in his chest.

“Can we do that meditation thing you taught me?” Harry asked him, staring down at the ground, fighting the unpleasant sensation in his stomach as he contemplated his uncertain future yet again.

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

* * *

That Friday evening found them both in the library in a study session together while Ron and Hermione were off attending to some of their Prefect duties. Although Harry had come here with very good intentions of actually studying, he was constantly being distracted. They were squashed in the smallest corner of the library which was seldom visited by others, and which had very little room between chairs, tables and bookcases. Evan, who Harry thought might have been made anxious by the confined space, was taking full advantage of it, pressing himself ever closer to Harry as the time wore on, legs brushing up against each other beneath the table, hands touching regularly, shoulders bumping.

His ability to focus was rapidly diminishing, and Harry just took to staring at him, leaning on the elbow he had propping his head up on the table. He really was so _hot_. He had no idea how he could ever have doubted what he was feeling for him. His body stirred just to look at him. Evan’s face was so perfect, his hair so soft, his body so lean yet muscled. And his _eyes_. Harry was completely infatuated.

Evan was soon aware of his scrutiny. “What are you doing?” he asked, bringing his eyes up to Harry and away from his essay with a quirk of his lips.

“Staring at you.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“Because I like to.” Harry grinned. “You’re gorgeous.”

He laughed when he saw Evan blush. It just made him look more attractive. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he said after a moment. He brought his right hand closer to Harry’s left, which was resting on the table, and began tracing patterns on the skin. “I fancied you from the moment I saw you. In fact, no, before that. When I first saw your picture in the paper.”

Harry grimaced, wondering which one that had been. The one with him desperately trying to escape Lockhart? A Triwizard photo with him looking sulky and out of place?

“I don’t know why,” he said shrugging, though he was inwardly pleased. “A skinny, scrawny-looking boy in glasses with messy hair and an ugly scar on his forehead.”

“You’re not scrawny—Fowler managed to get some muscle on you,” Evan said, grinning, and running his hand up Harry’s arm. Harry was immediately grateful he’d kept up the brutal training regime Fowler had instituted as Evan’s hand rested on his upper arm. “And I love the messy hair; I love getting my hands in it. And I barely even see the glasses because of your amazing eyes. The scar, I admit, I could do without.” 

Harry laughed. “You and me both.”

They moved apart slightly when they heard someone moving in the shelves nearby. Harry sighed and looked down at his Defence Against the Dark Arts homework.

“How on earth can you do non-verbal spells so well?” he asked, looking at a complicated passage in his textbook. “I can’t do it at all.”

“I learned most of my spells non-verbally,” Evan said. “You remember how I said it was the Nepalese wizards who helped me the most with controlling my magic? The meditation they helped me learn is how I do it. When I started learning magic, my parents were terrified I’d go too far and injure myself, so I used meditation in each lesson. The deep state of concentration is what made it easier to use magic, and non-verbal spells just came naturally. I don’t use them all the time though. Too much effort.”

“If your parents were so strict about you using magic, how come they let you come here?” Harry asked.

Evan made a face and sighed. He pressed his hand closer to Harry’s and their legs came together under the table again.

“They didn’t,” he said heavily. “I contacted Dumbledore on my own. They weren’t happy. _Really_ not happy. But they can’t stop me. I’m sixteen, which means I’ve got the choice to come if I want without permission.” His face turned darker. “Dumbledore told me I’d been sent a Hogwarts letter when I was eleven, but they hid it from me. I was furious. They’d told me I wasn’t allowed to go, but Dumbledore had been in contact with them to offer them support and everything and they turned him down. I could’ve been here all along.”

“But then you wouldn’t have travelled so much.” Harry said, trying to sound consoling, but inwardly nursing a quiet resentment. If Evan _had_ been here all along, would the two of them had been together earlier? Or perhaps, he thought darkly, they might never have gotten together at all.

“I suppose,” Evan said, sighing. “But I was just so angry that they tried to do that. They’ve always tried to hide me, and I hate it.”

Harry flinched a little, knowing that hiding was exactly what he was doing to him now.

“So, did you leave on bad terms with them then?” he asked, trying to skip over this.

“Not the greatest,” Evan said, frowning. “They still think I’m too delicate for school.”

“But not too delicate for Quidditch?”

“Quidditch is different,” he said, heavily. “I don’t have to use magic for that, and though there’s a big crowd around me, I’m completely separate so there’s no risk of a panic attack or anything. I think they just worried that using magic in front of others so much would cause me to relapse or something.”

“Would it?” Harry asked, touching his hand in concern, but hoping Evan didn’t think he was scared of him.

“No,” Evan said, squeezing Harry’s hand back. “My magic’s sorted. And the panic attacks I can manage. They’re just overprotective.”

“Good,” Harry said, letting out a breath. He turned Evan’s hand over to see his palm and stroke it softly, smiling as he remembered Evan reading his fortune before the match. Both were still wearing their Irish bracelets. “What do they make of all this stuff with me?”

Evan didn’t answer for a moment, and Harry looked up at him, heart sinking. “They don’t approve?”

“No,” Evan said, face softening, “it’s not that. They’ve always been supportive of my sexuality. I just think … maybe they think you’re too dangerous to be around. You know, the Chosen One and all that.”

Harry nodded, trying not to let this hurt him. “They’re probably not wrong.”

Evan seemed to realise he’d upset him and brought his other hand over to rest on top of the other. “I don’t care what they think,” Evan said, voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t care how dangerous or otherwise you are.”

“Even if you get made into one of Voldemort’s targets because of me?” Harry said, drawing his hand back and slumping in his chair. “He’s hurt people I care about before. You’d be safer without me.”

Quick as a flash, Evan had reached out and turned Harry’s face towards him, pressing his lips to him in a fierce, but brief kiss. Harry was too surprised to react, and blinked in confusion for a moment after being released.

“I don’t want to be without you,” Evan said, eyes bright with emotion. “I’m prepared to take that risk, Harry. From what I’ve learned about Hufflepuffs since I got here, we’re loyal. And I’m not going anywhere because of a bit of danger.”

Harry stared, too moved to even argue with Evan’s description of Voldemort as ‘a bit of danger’. Something deeper was welling up inside him, a rush of affection for Evan much stronger than he’d ever felt before.

“You seem to have adjusted to Hogwarts better than I thought,” Harry said lightly, trying to dispel the intense moment of before. He’d heard someone coming up the aisle and was aware his face must appear very flushed. “Knowing all about Hufflepuff.”

Evan smiled, and sat back a little, but still close. The person moving in the shelves seemed to have stopped short of turning into their secreted corner, though still lingered close by. “You said you thought I’d be in Hufflepuff,” he said, laughing. “Guess that thought was in the back of my head when I put on the Sorting Hat in Dumbledore’s office. But I wouldn’t say I’ve adjusted that well. There’s so much here that confuses me.”

“Like what?”

“Like just being in formal lessons for one,” Evan said, rolling his eyes. “Sitting for one or two hours in one place, listening for ages. And having teachers like this. Always having to be so respectful all the time and not say what I’m thinking. That’s what I did at home. Me and my dad would debate stuff for ages. And all the student politics; the backstabbing, the gossiping, the falling in and out, the friendship groups. There’s so many unspoken rules I just don’t understand.”

“Like with Snape,” Harry said, chuckling. “He keeps taking points.”

“I don’t get that either,” Evan said, shaking his head. “Am I supposed to be _annoyed_ I’ve lost points? They’re not mine; I don’t really care. I don’t see that winning some House Cup is worth much being shared between so many people who probably don’t all deserve it.”

“Don’t tell the rest of Hufflepuff that.”

“Snape just has it in for me,” Evan said, shaking his head in adorable confusion. “I don’t know why.”

“He hates everyone,” Harry reassured him. “But probably hates you more because of me.”

“But why does he hate you?”

“He’s a vindictive git,” Harry said simply. “He and my dad hated each other.”

“Really?” Evan looked interested. “Explains a few things. I thought maybe it was because I was gay.”

“Maybe that too.” Harry said with a sinking feeling. “But I guess it doesn’t help that you speak back to him. No one else dares.”

Harry smiled at him, unable to help admiring him for that despite the consequences. He went back to leaning his elbow on the desk, head resting on his hand to stare at him.

“I honestly don’t mean it,” Evan said, exasperatedly. “I just say what I think. I’ve never had to worry before. But on Monday there … it just made sense. You and I _weren’t_ flirting. Not that time anyway.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to go and say that Snape doesn’t look as though he’d recognise it,” Harry said, beginning to laugh. “That was brilliant.”

“Well, it’s true. No one’s probably flirted with him in his life.”

They fell into laughter together. Harry was grinning, loving the sound of Evan’s laugh, the sight of his smile. He didn’t often show it at school. Sitting here making fun of Snape with him was more perfect than he could have thought.

There was a creak of a floorboard, and Harry glanced up to see Ron standing at the entrance to the study alcove, a strange look on his face as he watched the two of them sitting there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN ... will this be the moment Harry finally tells Ron? Or will he chicken out again? 😉


	34. Asking a Question

Harry froze for the briefest of seconds before his body went extremely warm. He sat up quickly, taking his elbow from the desk and turned to look at Ron, moving his body away from Evan’s. He tried not to let panic take over. _It’s okay. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. Evan’s here, don’t react badly._

Ron was still staring. Slowly, his eyes began to drift between the two of them, perhaps seeing how closely they were squashed together, probably having just seen how Harry had been sitting with his body leaning towards him. Harry waited, forcing himself to stay calm. Beneath the table, Evan’s knee pressed slightly against his, and Harry appreciated the gesture, the show of support. _This is okay. If this leads to Ron finding out, it’s okay._

But it wasn’t. He’d deserved to hear the truth from Harry first, not like this. And Harry didn’t want him to know right now. Not while he and Evan were still at the beginning of exploring what this was, not while Harry still didn’t have an answer for what his sexuality was. _How much did he hear?_

“Hey, Ron,” he said, falsely cheery. “Thought you and Hermione were doing some Prefect stuff?”

“We finished,” Ron said, still looking between the two of them, suspiciously. “Went up to our dormitory and couldn’t find you. Checked the Map and it said you were here.”

Harry nodded, trying to be casual, though he knew the Map would’ve shown him and Evan sitting exceptionally closely for the last two hours. _There’s nothing in this. You’ve spent time alone with Ron studying before. It’s okay._

“I was just trying to get that work for Snape done,” Harry said, gesturing to his textbooks. “It’s taking forever.”

Ron frowned, and Harry knew exactly what he was thinking; since when had the two of them ever done homework on a Friday night? All of a Saturday maybe, or till two in the morning on a Sunday perhaps, but _never_ on a Friday. That was the one night they’d always taken off to recover from the rest of the week. Ever since first year.

“Taking up Snape’s recommendation of private sessions then?” Ron asked, looking towards Evan. There was a definite note of confrontation in his tone.

“Something like that.” Evan replied. His face had taken on the blank, indifferent expression that Harry loathed.

Harry swallowed. He didn’t like the way they were looking at each other. He didn’t want Ron to find out like this, especially when he still so obviously did not like Evan. Harry knew he wanted—no, _needed_ them to get along. It would make coming out so much easier if they didn’t dislike each other.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Harry said, desperately hoping to mend the situation. “You haven’t finished the essay either, right?”

He didn’t really expect Ron to; after all, he didn’t have his schoolbag with him for one. But next thing he knew, Ron had kicked out a chair and sat down into it, eyes still on Evan.

_Well,_ Harry thought as he looked at the two of them, _it’s a start_.

“Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked, hoping that she would appear around the corner too and help diffuse things; she at least liked Evan.

Ron shrugged. “Back in the common room. She didn’t want to come.”

Harry could see how it would’ve happened. Ron would have come down the stairs from the dormitory to tell Hermione that Harry was with Evan, asked her to come with him to break it up, and she would have said no, probably because she suspected the two of them wanted to be alone.

“We were just talking about Snape,” Harry said, trying to fill the awkward silence. “How he’s being especially vile this year.”

“What’s new?” Ron said, frowning at something. He glanced back to Evan and his expression softened slightly. “You did make me laugh a couple of times when you spoke back. If you don’t mind losing points, it’d be quite cool if you did it again. He needs taken down a peg or two.”

Harry felt his hope stir. Was that a _compliment?_

Evan also rose his eyebrows. “I’ll bear that in mind.” He hesitated a moment. “Thanks again for standing up to him for me.”

Ron shrugged. “He’s an arse. I’d do it for anyone.”

_Good,_ Harry thought, still looking backwards and forwards. _Is this progress?_

Evan’s entire body radiated discomfort, and Harry could almost see the gears grinding in his head as he thought of something to say. This was a lot of effort for him. Evan half-glanced at Harry before he spoke again, voice a little hesitant.

“How’s Quidditch practice going?” he asked, holding himself rigidly. Harry almost smiled. Evan did not make small talk easily. “You’re a Keeper like me, right?”

Ron looked to Harry with what was almost an expression of betrayal. The tips of his ears went pink.

“I’m nowhere near as good as you,” he said, disgruntled. He huffed. “I’m terrible actually.”

Harry was about to open his mouth to contradict him, but he could hardly be honest; Ron’s practices this week had not been very successful.

Evan breathed deeply for a second or two, glancing at the ceiling for a moment before speaking, almost as though looking for strength. He crossed his arms across his chest. “I could help you if you want. Give you some tips.”

Ron’s eyes went wide for a second and he stared at Evan, face a mask of confusion. His eyes dropped to the green bracelet on Evan’s wrist, and his eyes narrowed. “You’re on the Hufflepuff team, why would you do that?”

Evan gave the tiniest of shrugs, looking as though he already regretted offering. “You’re Harry’s friend.”

Ron looked back at Harry, and he was frowning again. Harry stared back, chest suddenly feeling very tight at the expression he saw there; suspicion, distrust, confusion.

Fortunately, at that moment they were interrupted.

“Library’s closing! Everybody out!”

Harry began packing up his things right away and did not look at Evan or Ron until Madam Pince had shooed them out the library. They walked to the staircase in silence. Harry’s mind was racing. How had that come off? Good, bad? Could this be the chance he’d been waiting for to tell Ron the truth? It had to be, right?

At the staircase, Evan turned to go down, while Ron and Harry to go up. Harry caught Evan’s eye just before he headed out of sight down the stairs.

“ _Thank you,”_ he mouthed, and Evan gave him the smallest of smiles back.

“ _Tonight_ ,” he mouthed back. “ _You owe me.”_ And with a wink, he was gone.

Harry hurried to catch back up with Ron, who was walking oddly fast up the stairs and through the corridor. He wasn’t looking at Harry. Before they reached the common room, he took Harry by the arm and directed him into an empty classroom and shut the door. After a quick check for Peeves, he turned to Harry.

“What the hell, Harry?”

“What d’you mean?” Harry asked, all former hopes of finally being honest sinking rapidly.

“I mean, what the hell were you doing squashed into a private corner of the library with a guy everyone knows fancies you?” Ron’s eyes were wide. “D’you fancy him back?”

Harry felt a flare of anger accompany the stab to the gut Ron had just delivered with the tone of his question. “There’s plenty of times you and Hermione have been squashed together somewhere. You fancy her?”

Ron’s ears went pink again. “That’s beside the point,” he said, hastily. “You’re going on about how these rumours upset you and then you go and do that? Don’t you want them to go away?”

“Yes, but—”

“Harry, he’s gay,” Ron said seriously, and Harry almost laughed at the obviousness of that statement. “Everyone knows it. You’re setting yourself up for something here. He's going to think he has a chance with you. Don't you remember how angry he got at King's Cross when you turned him down? You want that to happen again? If you don’t want him and other people thinking you’re a couple, you can’t hang out with him on your own like that.”

Harry felt the anger flare again. “I don’t need you telling me who to be friends with, Ron.”

“I don’t care who you’re friends with Harry, but he doesn’t just want to be friends,” Ron moaned, as though frustrated Harry wasn’t getting this. “Look!”

He grabbed Harry’s wrist and held it up, exposing the security bracelet he still wore. “You’ve got matching bracelets, Harry. _Matching._ What d’you still need a security thing for anyway?”

Harry snatched his wrist back. “It’s a memento from the match, Ron. We both did play in it, after all. You’ve got plenty of your own.” He looked meaningfully at Ron’s robes, which as well as bearing a metal badge from the European Championship, also had one from the World Cup and a Chudley Cannons game from several years ago. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that it makes it look like you’re together,” Ron said. “No one else knows what it is. I thought you don’t want that?”

“What I _don’t_ want, is one of my friends telling me I can’t have any others,” Harry said, glaring at him. “You jealous or something?”

Now Ron was glaring at him. “I’m just trying to look out for you, Harry. You _told_ me you don’t want these rumours going around. But all it looks like to me is that you’re encouraging them.”

Ron’s anger faded, and he looked at Harry more closely. He blinked a couple of times.

“Harry,” he said, voice calmer and less confrontational. “I was listening for a bit, and then I saw the two of you. He was _different_. When he was talking to you—I’ve never heard him that way, so relaxed. And the way the two of you were when I saw you … you were looking at each other in a funny way …”

Ron swallowed nervously. “What did he mean when he said you guys weren’t flirting _that time_?” He took a step closer, looking at Harry more attentively than he’d done before. “Have you been … flirting with him?”

Harry froze, and fear flooded him. Heat rose to his face and his heart skipped a beat.

“It was a joke,” he said, quietly. His mouth had gone dry. “Just a joke.”

“Harry—” Ron was shaking his head. His expression now bore no anger whatsoever, no trace of the disgust or contempt that Harry feared. “Didn’t sound like it. In fact, I’ve never heard you talk to anyone that way. Are you … are you gay?”

This was it, the perfect opportunity he'd been waiting for. Ron looked more open to the idea now that he'd ever been. But Harry was still too angry with Ron for telling him to stay away, acting as though he knew everything, the desperate way he seemed to be trying to keep them apart. He didn’t want to tell Ron like this, to blurt it out in anger in the face of an accusation as though it was something wrong or shameful.

“I’m not gay, Ron,” he said, voice quivering in fury. “So, stop asking me, and mind your own bloody business.”

Ignoring Ron’s expression of hurt, he turned and stalked out of the classroom.

* * *

Over the next week or so, Harry’s relationship with Ron was frosty at best. Ron looked vastly uncomfortable whenever Evan joined the three of them walking in between classes, and though the two rarely spoke to each other, it was always with very formally stiff comments, which made Harry feel worse. Hermione filled in the gaps, happily talking to Evan whenever he showed up about Ancient Runes or some country he’d visited, but even with her, Evan was a little rigid. It was clear he did not like being around Ron. He joined them less and less during the day, and Harry resented Ron for it, leading to some terse interchanges between them.

Logically, he knew Ron had been doing what he thought Harry wanted; doing his best to quash the rumours, the same way he’d tried to shut down talk of Harry as the Heir of Slytherin or as a dangerous madman last year. But still Harry could not get over it, not when he also remembered the way Ron had once laughed at the very thought of Harry being gay, the appalled look on his face in the kitchen of the Burrow as he’d considered it may be true. It pushed back all his plans to try and come out to him and Hermione until he could be sure the both of them would be supportive. And he was beginning to wonder if that would ever happen with Ron.

His meetings with Evan at night were as wonderful as ever, and thankfully Evan did not push Harry on telling the truth.

“I can see why you don’t want to tell him,” Evan said to him one night as they walked around the lake, hand in hand. “He doesn’t seem the most gay friendly.”

Harry sighed. “I don’t know if that’s it,” he said, pushing himself closer to Evan. “He’s never said anything _explicitly_ homophobic, about you or anyone. I get the impression it’s more to do with the gossip and rumours. He doesn’t want it to get worse. He knows it upsets me.”

“So, he’s protecting you?”

“Maybe,” Harry mused. They stopped to look across the lake. They were not too far away from the spot where Harry had entered the lake for the Second Task, when Ron had been the ‘thing he’d miss the most’. “But then I don’t know if he hates the rumours because he doesn’t want a gay friend, or because he just wants to spare me the drama. He’s always stood up for me. But—”

Harry frowned as he remembered. “We only fell out once, and that was because he didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t put my name in the Goblet of Fire. And it was horrible. Not just because I lost a friend, but because he was actually against me for the first time ever, and I hated that.”

“If you told him how you feel about me, maybe it would be different,” Evan said, turning Harry around to hold him around the middle and press a kiss to his forehead. “If he believes the rumours are wrong and hurtful, of course he’ll want to stop them. But if you tell him the truth, he might defend you.”

Harry knew this was perfectly reasonable, but it still didn’t make it any easier to contemplate telling him when things were still so chilly between them. Yet, despite their cold patch, Ron still went everywhere with Harry, and still yelled at anyone asking him about the Ministry or making unsavoury comments, which Harry appreciated.

He decided to wait a while to broach the subject again with him.

* * *

Harry now spent most of his days daydreaming about Evan, and the portions of the night when he was not out on the grounds were spent dreaming about him, dreams which were getting increasingly dirtier the longer they had spent kissing and touching down by the lake. To his delight, he found he was spending rarely any time of the day moping about the prophecy or Sirius, and any time he did, Evan was there, visible in a class or the corridor, or smiling at him by the lake, and those thoughts disappeared. They spent long hours talking about anything and everything, and Harry had tentatively begun telling him about his previous years at Hogwarts, his encounters with Voldemort which still lingered with him. Evan always listened patiently with a sympathetic ear, and never made Harry feel bad for what he told him, always ending their heavy conversations with some light anecdote from his time in Quidditch training, or telling him a story from one of the many countries he’d been to. Harry had never felt as close to anyone before. He could hardly imagine telling Ron and Hermione he still dreamed about the graveyard occasionally, or that memories of the hundred Dementors swooping down on him, the sight of the Basilisk diving for him, or the sight of Voldemort’s red eyes on the back of Quirrell’s skull still haunted him at times, even after all these years. He’d never felt comfortable confiding in anyone before, just determined to shove it all down until it stopped hurting, as he had done all his miserable childhood with the Dursleys. Evan was changing that.

For the first time, Harry was now starting to see Evan not as the just boy he liked, but as his _boyfriend_. And it was a thought he very much treasured.

The weather was beginning to grow colder and wilder, and the first Hogsmeade weekend was approaching. Harry increasingly felt that he wanted nothing more than to go with Evan, but was slightly nervous at whether this would constitute a ‘date’. And if it did, how would he go about it? His last Hogsmeade date had certainly been a disaster. He and Evan always just hung out, talked together, studied together, they didn’t go _out_. Harry had just about begun to dismiss the idea as unworkable considering that he would be going with Ron and Hermione and having Evan along would prevent any of them enjoying themselves as well as also stopping the two of them from being alone. Harry wanted Evan all to himself, no matter how nice Hermione was to him.

His opportunity came when Hermione told him she would not be going to Hogsmeade as Professor McGonagall had asked for her to help her with a Transfiguration homework club for OWL students – (“I mean, this sort of thing will look really good if ever I apply for a job”)—and Ron found himself in detention cleaning out cauldrons after accidentally hexing Snape when aiming for Harry in class, after Harry had ducked at the last minute. It had done little to mend the tension between them, but it left Harry with a free day, a gloriously free day to spend with Evan if he liked.

Now came the time to ask him, and Harry was ridiculously nervous about it. He chickened out a couple of times, feeling stupidly awkward about the full thing, just as he had before asking Cho to the Yule Ball. He wrestled himself, cursing just how awkward he was with situations like this. _Just ask him!_ _You’ve done things a lot more intimate than walking to Hogsmeade with him._

He finally plucked up the courage a few days before the visit. Ron and Hermione were off doing Prefect things again, and Evan was alone in the library, in ‘their spot’, as they’d come to call it. Evan looked up at him and smiled as he approached, and Harry’s nerves, instead of evaporating as they usually did at that sight, increased.

Harry sat down next to him and they began their study session, Evan doing the usual subtle touches here and there which sent Harry’s heart racing, despite the situation. Harry tried to take this as an encouraging sign. _Why would he say no? He’s so obviously into you. It’s not the same as it was with Cho._

It was almost time to pack up and go, and Harry finally broke the silence.

“You know it’s the Hogsmeade visit on Saturday,” he said, trying to sound off-hand.

Evan stopped what he was doing and turned to look at him. He raised an eyebrow. “So it is.”

“Well, me, Ron and Hermione usually go,” said Harry, still trying to sound casual, though his heart was thumping loudly. “But they can’t this time. And … it’s a bit of a shame, you know? Because I usually like going.”

Evan nodded, face inscrutable.

“I don’t know if you’ve been before,” Harry said, highly aware he was rambling now. “But it’s pretty good. I mean, there’s not much there, apart from Honeyduke’s and the Three Broomsticks, but it’s always good to get out of school for a bit. Just for a walk even. I don’t think the weather’s going to be very good, but it could still be fun. It’s fairly interesting if you haven’t been before. Have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, I like going,” Harry said, flushing as he repeated himself, knowing he sounded like an idiot. “And—even when the weather’s rubbish, it’s usually pretty good.”

Evan was still listening, and now there was a small smile beginning to touch his lips. He said nothing.

Harry’s discomfort was growing. Evan obviously knew where he was going with this. Why couldn’t he just help him out?

“Well, I just wondered if—if you were … um, planning on going?”

Evan’s smile grew wider, and his blue eyes sparkled. “Harry, are you asking me on a date?”

Harry’s blush grew worse and he hastily looked around, before inching slightly closer to him.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

Evan didn’t say anything, and Harry squirmed uncomfortably as he waited for an answer. Evan was certainly taking his time, lips pressed together and brow furrowed as if deep in thought. He felt a stab of irritation as he realised boys apparently weren’t so different from girls; Parvati had also certainly enjoyed keeping him in suspense when he’d asked her to the Ball. Maybe dating itself was just the problem.

Suddenly, Evan’s face broke out into a wide grin. “I’d be delighted.”

Harry nodded. “Good,” he said, trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal, even as his insides began inflating so rapidly he thought he could float. “Uh, I guess I—I’ll see you there.”

Filled with elation, but also aware his face must be bright red, Harry stood up and started to retreat, somewhat in a daze. He heard Evan laugh behind him.

“Harry, get back here.”

Harry turned and suddenly Evan was standing in front of him, scooping his face into his hands and kissing him swiftly. He drew back slightly, lips still spread in a wide smile. “I’m so glad you asked me,” he said softly.

Harry laughed breathily, and suddenly, he was blindingly happy he had asked too.

After quickly glancing out of their private little alcove, he took Evan’s face in his own hands and kissed him again, more firmly than Evan had kissed him, taking a few steps forward so that he’d pressed Evan’s back up against a bookshelf, sending one falling to the floor. Evan was evidently surprised, but delighted by Harry’s sudden fervour, and soon his hands were on Harry’s back, pulling him closer.

Harry broke the kiss, feeling more dazed than ever. Evan smiled back at him, caressing his cheek gently.

“You’re getting bolder,” he observed, voice deep with pleasure.

“I just love kissing you so much,” Harry said, grinning and resting his hands lightly on Evan’s hips. They were so close to his own, things were really starting to get uncomfortable, but he didn’t care.

“Same,” Evan said, leaning forward and kissing him on the lips, and then the cheeks, then the lips again. “I could do it all day.”

Harry closed his eyes as Evan continued kissing his face. In a couple of days, they’d have the full day to themselves, an entire village to lose themselves in, with lots of private streets and alleyways to locate.

He hoped there’d be opportunity of a lot more of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for everyone who wanted Harry to tell him the truth! Still a bit of drama to come between these two! 😉 
> 
> The next chapter ... I've written about five different versions of it, and I can't decide which one to post. Something happens in it which I'm not quite sure about how I want to portray. Your comments might help me decide. I'd be interested in seeing what you guys predict these boys might get up to in Hogsmeade :)


	35. The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone's comments! Surprised by how many people thought I was going to turn this date into an angst-fest. Then again, I guess I've got a track record 😂 It was the ending of this chapter I wasn't sure about how to write, and it's definitely not angsty. I went for the version I was most comfortable with. Hope you enjoy!

The morning of the Hogsmeade weekend dawned and proved to be a stormy one, but Harry’s mood was not dampened in the slightest. Today was his day with Evan, a _whole_ day. He hadn’t realised until now that he’d never had that before, having always had their times cut short by Quidditch training or school. He was incredibly excited.

He dressed in several thick layers of jumpers and got his cloak, scarf and gloves to hand, knowing that it was going to end up an exceptionally cold day. If not for Evan, he probably wouldn’t think much of going in the first place.

When he’d gone down to breakfast, Ron raised his eyebrows at him.

“You’re still planning on going?” he asked. “Without us two?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, tucking into breakfast and trying to appear casual. “Why not? I need to get out of this place and all the whispering for a while.”

He could see Evan at the Hufflepuff table looking his way, and he ducked his head down in case Ron noticed him blushing.

Ginny arrived moments later and delivered a letter from Dumbledore inviting him to their next lesson on Monday evening, their first in a while as Dumbledore had been mysteriously absent most days.

“You’re going to Hogsmeade alone, Harry?” Ginny asked, before she left. “Why don’t you tag along with me and Dean? Just because this idiot got himself in detention doesn’t mean you have to be stuck yourself.”

“You’re okay, Ginny,” he said, privately thinking that even if he hadn’t been going with Evan, trailing along behind another couple would have been far too awkward. “I kind of fancy some time to myself.”

“Okay, well if you’re sure. Might see you there.”

She left, and Ron looked suspiciously back at Harry. “Why do you want to be alone?”

“Because I keep getting asked so many questions?” Harry said. Ron frowned, but didn’t say anything, soon leaving to go and begin his detention, which promised to last several hours. Hermione had also gone to go and find Professor McGonagall, and Harry was finally free to go and meet Evan.

He was waiting for Harry out in the Entrance Hall, and his smile as Harry approached made Harry happier than ever he had asked him to go. They joined the usual crowd of people at the front doors, getting their names checked off by Filch and examined with Secrecy Sensors. Filch narrowed his eyes at the two of them, but he said nothing. Soon, they were heading off down the road to the village.

The wind was biting, and the air was full of sleet. Harry quickly had most of his face obscured by his scarf, but it still felt raw and numb. The road was filled with so many students bent almost double against the wind that Harry doubted any of them had even noticed the two of them were together. He felt wondrously free.

Evan glanced at him a couple of times, and Harry felt himself grow slightly warmer each time, even though all he could see of him was his eyes. Though he and Evan were hardly strangers to each other, Harry was suddenly at unable to think of what to say, and was pleased Evan was not much of a talker anyway. Harry was reminded of his date with Cho when he’d worried so much during the walk down, wondering if he should take her hand. Thankfully, right now, it was too cold to even think of doing that, and Harry’s hands stayed stuffed into his pockets.

They arrived at the village, and Harry was at a loss of what to do. Where did people go on dates when they came here? Where did they go _any_ of the time? His mind seemed to have gone blank. Zonko’s Joke Shop seemed to have closed, but Honeydukes appeared to be open, so Harry gestured half-heartedly towards it. The warm toffee-scented air which greatest them as they ducked inside was a great relief.

Evan shivered, pulling down his scarf a little. “That’s better.” He inhaled with a smile. “I’ve heard so much about this place. Weren’t the chocolates Emmy got you for your birthday from here?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, leaping on this conversation gratefully. “The sweets here are great.”

This led onto a pleasant ten minutes moving around the shop as Harry pointed out his favourites, and Evan explored the incredible variety of offerings, trying out a few free samples and they stocked up on several items. The shop was so crowded they occasionally were a little squashed together, and no one anywhere noticed. He was beginning to relax slightly; why had he been nervous in the first place? This was _Evan._

His heart sank the next moment, however, when he saw Professor Slughorn approaching through the crowd.

“Harry! Evan!” he boomed, bouncing towards them, taking up a large amount of room. “Fancy seeing you both here! You’ve missed three of my little suppers now. It simply won’t do; I’m determined to have you both!”

He poked them both genially in the chest. “Why don’t you come along?”

“I’ve had Quidditch practice, sir,” Harry explained, who had indeed been scheduling them for whenever he received an invitation.

“Ah, well of course! You are a professional, after all,” Slughorn chuckled. “But a little recreation never hurt anyone. Now, why don’t you both come along on Monday night, regale us with the tales from the game during the summer?”

“I’ve got – er—an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening.”

“You can’t evade me forever, Harry,” Slughorn said dramatically. “But Evan, m’boy, you’ll come along won’t you? I can’t imagine Hufflepuff will be practicing in this weather.”

“Uh,” Evan said, and Harry almost laughed at the slight look of panic in his eyes. “Of—of course I will.”

“Excellent! Looking forward to it!”

With a regal wave, he left the shop. Evan groaned. “How do I get out of that?”

Harry chuckled. “You don’t. But maybe if you just don’t talk a lot he won’t invite you back.”

“No chance of that,” Evan muttered darkly. “We’re _professionals_ after all, even though we’ve both only played in one full match each. Why couldn’t I have an excuse like yours? You’re not really meeting with Dumbledore, are you?”

“I am actually,” Harry said, as they moved towards the door to leave.

“Why?”

“Uh, I have some private lessons with him,” Harry said, shrugging. He didn’t know if he should reveal exactly what was going on.

Evan looked confused for a moment, before his face fell. “About the … you know?”

“Yeah—can we not talk about it?” Harry asked, as they headed outside back into the cold. Thoughts of the prophecy were the last thing he wanted on his mind right now.

Evan agreed, though not without giving Harry another penetrating look. Harry’s mood had dampened slightly with that reminder, and as they walked around the village a little more, Harry trying to show him around, it sunk even further. His awkwardness returned, and the stormy winds were making it difficult to talk much outside. He was sure it wasn’t going well. They came to a stop and Harry saw Madam Puddifoot’s Teashop in front of them.

“Do you want to go in?” Evan asked, as Harry stared at it.

“No,” he said immediately. “Definitely not.”

“Why not?” Evan asked, looking surprised at the suddenness of his response.

“It’s where I went with Cho,” Harry said, and then immediately wished he hadn’t when he saw Evan’s face tighten slightly. He could have kicked himself. Why did he always make such a mess of things?

“Sorry,” he said quickly, looking around in discomfort, feeling like a complete idiot. “I shouldn’t have mentioned her. I—I’m just not really good at this.”

Evan’s face relaxed and he laughed slightly. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve known each other for months, Harry, relax a little. Is there anywhere _else_ we can go and get a drink in the warmth?”

Feeling a little better, Harry nodded and pointed him in the direction of the Three Broomsticks, which was mercifully warm and welcoming. They managed to find a table in the corner, and Harry began to loosen up a bit. Though the room was filled with people, villagers and students both, he suddenly wasn’t awkward at all about being here with Evan. What did he care what they thought? He came here with Ron all the time, and anyway, why should be worried about people thinking they were a couple? They already did anyway.

They had a few Butterbeers, and Harry felt himself relaxing more and more as they talked. They discussed their respective Quidditch teams for a while, though both were too savvy to reveal too much about their tactics, and laughed over Snape and how he’d looked after being hit by the accidental Jelly-Legs Jinx Ron was currently serving detention for. It was all going well, but then Harry saw Evan’s face tighten again.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Cho and her friend Marietta moving through the crowd. They did not see them, but continued on to a table in the far corner, hidden from sight by the bar.

“Does it bother you?” Harry asked, stomach churning. “Seeing her?”

Evan shook his head, but only after a moment of hesitation. “I’m not naïve enough to think you didn’t have some sort of past. And you told me before about her anyway. It’s just … I’ve never really gone out with anyone before, and you have.”

“It wasn’t really going out,” Harry said awkwardly, half glancing over to Cho’s corner. “One date at that stupid tea shop and she left, crying her eyes out.”

Evan smiled a little. “You’re that bad on dates?”

Harry didn’t smile back. “She wanted to talk about Cedric, and I couldn’t,” he said flatly. “Then she got annoyed when I mentioned I had to go and meet Hermione. The whole thing was just really awkward and horrible.”

“You told her you were going to meet another girl?” Evan’s smile grew bigger. “I’m bad with people _and_ gay, Harry, and even I know that’s bad.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Harry said, wincing. “I was meeting her and Rita Skeeter to do an interview about—about what had happened.”

Evan’s smile evaporated. “About You-Know-Who coming back?” When Harry nodded, he lowered his voice. “That was a really brave interview Harry.”

“You read it?”

“Of course!” Evan lowered his eyes, chewing on his lip. “I told you I’d fancied you for a while after reading about you. I guess it was that report about you and the Hungarian Horntail that started it. You were cute, _and_ a good flier—what more could I want? I read everything I could about you.”

As thrilled as this made Harry, he couldn’t help but grimace too. “That was some horrible stuff they were writing that year, and later.”

“I know, but I knew enough to read between the lines. Both my parents were on yours and Dumbledore’s side. That interview made me _really_ start to have a crush on you. I wanted to meet you.”

Harry took a sip of his Butterbeer to stop himself grinning too much, hoping people would pass the redness of his cheeks off as due to the hot, stuffy atmosphere.

“I can’t say I started fancying you so early,” he said, staring down into his bottle, to hide his embarrassment. “I don’t really know when I started. Didn’t even realise it was happening until – until I was kissing you, I guess.”

“I’m just glad you realised,” Evan said softly, and Harry could tell by his voice that he was smiling.

Cho became visible once more as she came up to the bar for some Butterbeer for her and her friend. Harry looked at her a moment, and then at Evan.

“Does it bother you that she was a girl?” he asked, nerves growing in the pit of his stomach. “The first person I really fancied.”

Evan shook his head, with no hesitation like he had before. “Not at all. The world isn’t divided into neat categories of straight and gay, Harry. I don’t mind what you’ve done before, or what you felt. Now’s all that’s important.”

The room seemed much warmer and Harry now couldn’t stop the smile on his face. He drew a quick breath, staring back down at the bottle in his hands again as he rolled it back and forth.

“How did you know you were gay?” he asked, dropping his voice very low. “Like, how did you _know?_ ”

Evan thought about it for a while, he too rolling his bottle around on the table. Harry moved a little closer to him to hear his answer, looking quickly around their table in case any one was listening too closely.

“I don’t know,” Evan said, eyes distant, a slight crease on his brow. “I just knew. I know that can’t be helpful, but that’s how it was. I was away from other people a lot, and when I was around others it was usually with adults, like healers or the wizards we met when we travelled. I didn’t really first get to be around people close to my own age till I joined the Arrows.”

His shoulders grew a little stiffer and he clutched the bottle a bit more tightly. “You remember I told you about the person on the team that—” he stopped, and Harry nodded, remembering with some displeasure the boy who had messed him around. “Well, I had a pretty big crush on him right from the start. I knew then that I liked boys. It didn’t even occur to me to look at girls that way, and it’s not like there weren’t plenty good-looking ones on the team or on the reserves. And when we – we kissed, it just felt right. I didn’t question it.”

Harry nodded, grateful Evan was telling him this, as much as he disliked the idea of him kissing someone else.

Evan lifted his eyes to Harry’s and gave him an uncertain smile. He looked really nervous. “You and Cho kissed, right?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he said. He looked away. “It wasn’t that good.”

“But you felt something?” Evan sounded even more nervous now. He obviously didn’t like hearing about this as much as Harry didn’t.

Harry thought back, as he had done so many times over the last months. He took another swig of Butterbeer to kill some time. Cho was still at the bar, and he watched her a moment, seeing her shiny dark hair rippling in the lamplight as she tossed her head back.

“Yeah,” he admitted, finally. “I mean, the kiss wasn’t amazing, and our entire relationship was a mess. But I definitely felt something for her.”

“And other girls?”

“A couple,” Harry said, growing more awkward by the second. “But nothing like that, or like with you. Except maybe … you know Veelas?”

Evan rolled his eyes. “Yes. I was at the World Cup.”

“Well, they affected me,” Harry said, returning to the argument he’d long had with himself during sleepless nights. “And Ron’s brother’s engaged to one, and she has a bit of an affect on me too. Not as much as Ron, mind you, but still something. Does that—does that mean something?”

Evan had started smiling. “They don’t affect gay men, Harry,” he said, softly. “Not me at all. If that’s true, and you definitely felt something for those other girls, then I’d say you’re probably bisexual.”

Something was washing through Harry’s mind and body, something warm and tingly. Was this finally it? Was this the moment it was finally settled? He was bisexual?

“But I’ve never fancied any other boy but you,” he said, feeling slightly dizzy. “How can—how can that be?”

“I don’t know much about it, but I do know there aren’t any rules saying you have to like an equal number of boys and girls,” Evan said gently. “You don’t have to pass a test or anything. Just ask yourself; does it seem right?”

Harry thought for a long moment, harder than he ever had about it, drowning out the hustle and bustle of the pub around him. The tingly feeling was growing.

_I’m bisexual._

Evan was still smiling, and he reached beneath the table to gently press a hand to his knee. “You okay?”

Harry nodded, throat feeling pretty tight. He couldn’t speak, and Evan seemed to understand, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

They didn’t speak for several minutes, Harry sipping on his Butterbeer to try and calm himself down. His entire body was buzzing; the drink, Evan’s proximity, the busy pub, his ground-breaking revelation all contributing to making him feel as alive and brave as the Firewhisky had done in the summer.

A few students had noticed them now, and were openly pointing and staring, but Harry didn’t care. He wasn’t going to let anything ruin this moment. A few wizards from the village sauntered up, grinning happily and asked him and Evan for their autographs. Harry had flushed with embarrassment, but Evan had been totally unconcerned, signing the parchment they put out for him without any problem, and Harry followed suit a moment later. Then, buoyed on by the first wizards, a smaller group of people approached them, several offering their congratulations on the match and asking for autographs of their own. Harry was left quite bemused by the whole affair, and was quite grateful when the crowd subsided. At least they only seemed to care about the game itself. Not one had asked why the two of them were together. Not that Harry would have minded. Some of the things which had been hanging over him were beginning to subside slightly. Even the dark thoughts of the prophecy and his guilt over Sirius’ death.

“It was in here I first found out Sirius was my godfather,” he said, after a while when they were once again alone, glancing at the space he had been in at the time. “I still thought he was a criminal then. Afterwards, we used to come down and meet him here. He was hiding out in a cave up in the mountains.”

Evan’s eyebrow quirked. “A cave?” He glanced at the door. “D’you want to go?”

Harry looked at the windows and the lashing wind and sleet outside. “In this?”

“Where’s your Gryffindor spirit?” Evan grinned mischievously. “Come on, it’ll be interesting. Wait here a minute.”

Harry did, entirely nonplussed as Evan went up to Madam Rosmerta and spoke quietly to her. She returned a moment later with a large bag which she handed to him, and he passed her a few coins. He came back to Harry. There was a playfulness dancing in his eyes.

“You coming?”

Harry did not object, even when they went back outside into the howling wind. He could barely walk straight as he led Evan to the end of the main street and towards the path which led up to the mountain cave. After about ten minutes, Harry wished he had put up a bit more of a fight when the weather remained as miserable as ever and he began to slide on the loose rocks on the path. Evan did not look fazed, and darted on up ahead as though he was some sort of mountain goat, a broad grin on his face. Harry couldn’t understand how he always looked so happy out of doors, even in weather like this. Evan turned around to help him a couple of times, laughing merrily when Harry struggled to keep up.

They reached the cave after about an hour of battling the winds and the terrain. It looked the same as last time, fairly unremarkable, but when Harry saw it, a cold weight seemed to settle in his heart.

Evan had gone inside, peering around in interest. “I went exploring some caves in Thailand once,” he said. “I couldn’t go very far in though. My mum had to get me a Calming Draught after about ten minutes.”

Harry was only vaguely listening as he followed Evan in and out of the wind. A lump had arisen in his throat. Evan looked around when Harry did not answer.

“You okay?”

Harry shook his head slightly as memories of Sirius came barrelling into him. Evan did not need to hear an explanation. He just came forwards and pulled Harry into an embrace, which Harry returned, resting his head on Evan’s shoulder. He wondered what Sirius would have made of this; Harry standing here in the arms of another boy. Then he remembered what Lupin had said, that Sirius had been supportive of Lupin when he’d told him he was bisexual. Harry’s grip around Evan tightened. _I wish I could have told him too._

Evan pulled back after a moment and set down the bag he was carrying. He pulled out his wand and conjured a small, but warm, fire out of blue flames and then some large pillows, cushions and blankets to go around it. He took Harry by the hand and brought him down to sit with him, resting against the cushions and warming themselves by the fire, pulling some blankets around them as they removed their scarfs and gloves, though keeping on most everything else; the fire was not hot enough to warm them too much. He reached into the bag and pulled out some Butterbeer and a couple plates of food.

“Thought we could have a little meal of our own,” he said, winking.

Harry laughed, pleased at his foresight. It reminded him of bringing Sirius up spare food here, and soon he began to hesitantly tell Evan more about it. Evan smiled and nodded as he listened, and when they’d finished eating, they sat back together, Harry leaning into Evan’s chest, closing his eyes and feeling more peaceful than he had all week, grateful to get away from Ron’s coldness, his and Hermione’s little tiffs, the gossiping of the students who treated his relationship as the most sordid of affairs.

The wind continued screaming outside the cave, but neither of them paid it any heed. It was still cold, but sitting there together was keeping them warm, and Harry thought the cave had never seem so cosy.

“Did I ever tell you about my grandfather?” Evan said suddenly, voice a little tight.

Harry opened his eyes. Beside him, Evan was tense, and stared into the little blue fire in front of them as if it was the most fascinating thing here. The arm, which he’d had around Harry’s shoulder, stiffened, and the hand which had been moving up and down his arm had halted.

“You mentioned he’d died,” Harry said, focusing his eyes on his face, twisting his body slightly towards him. “Just before you were supposed to come to Hogwarts. You were really close.”

Evan nodded stiffly. “I was ten,” he said. “He’d been my biggest support through my illness. Mum and dad hovered around me all the time like I was breakable, but he treated me as normal. Told me stories, let me use his telescope, taught me how to fly. I didn’t see him that often because we only came back to Britain for maybe a few months each year, but I lived for each time. He was always happy to see me, whereas with my mum and dad, I guess I sometimes just felt like a bit of a burden.”

Harry nodded, recognising a little of how he’d felt about Sirius; he’d never spent any huge amount of time with him after all, not including the summer and Christmas holidays at Grimmauld Place. But it had been good to know there was someone out there who cared, who treated you like they really valued you.

“When he died,” Evan said, voice beginning to shake, “I was so upset all the meditation training the Nepalese wizards had done seemed to just disappear. Every time I cried, or shouted at my parents, my magic would just burst out of me. I destroyed my entire bedroom. And that scared me because of what had happened with my grandmother, which just made me worse. It took months before I was able to regain the control I’d had, long after Hogwarts had started. And by that point, I guess my parents had given up any hope of me being normal.”

Harry took Evan’s hand in his, rubbing his own over it. It was very cold. “It must’ve been awful.”

Evan nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he said, resuming his stroking of Harry’s arm. “I miss him. And I thought … if it wasn’t for that, I’d have been at Hogwarts with you all along. I wondered if you would’ve ever noticed me if that had been the case.”

Harry had wondered this as well. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “But I’m glad it worked out the way it did. You came into my life right at the time I needed you.”

He laced his fingers through Evan’s, enjoying the way they looked together in the blue light cast by the flames.

“I thought about that too,” Evan said, arm growing tighter around him. “When he died … I fell apart. But after Cedric died, and Sirius … you came back here. You didn’t fall apart. You were so much stronger than me.”

“No,” Harry said, looking up at Evan’s face and seeing how cold it looked. “It’s not the same. And you’re wrong. I _did_ fall apart. Just in a different way.”

Evan looked down at him, eyes roaming all over his face. He withdrew his hand from Harry’s to run it along his jaw, coming to rest under chin. He slowly tilted his head down and kissed him. He moaned softly when he drew back, regarding him with an intense stare.

“Harry …” he breathed, voice huskier. “How do you do this to me? I want you so much.”

Harry smiled with a very coy look he knew he had never used before. “Why, Evander, are you coming on to me?”

Evan chuckled, pulling him slightly closer. “I guess I am.”

Harry grinned. His body felt so warm now pressed up against him, and he knew it was nothing to with the fire. “Good. Though I probably shouldn’t have called you Evander. I know you don’t like it.”

Evan pursed his lips, suppressing another smile. “I think I can get used to it, if it’s you saying it.” He sighed. “I don’t usually like it because … the only one who called me it was my grandmother. It was the last word she said to me. Shouting at me for breaking a cup. She’d picked up her wand to fix it—and that’s when the accident happened.”

Harry felt an outpouring of sympathy as he came to understood more of what had caused Evan’s trauma. “You blamed yourself.”

Evan nodded. “For ages. And … you said the other night that … that you’d had to watch two people die and know it was your fault …”

“Cedric and Sirius,” Harry said, understanding exactly how Evan felt, and feeling a rush of renewed affection for him. “They wouldn’t have been in the graveyard or the Ministry if not for me. I still blame myself a little.”

Evan laughed softly, though he didn’t look much like he found it funny. “I guess then we both needed each other.” He resumed running his hand along Harry’s jaw, and pressed his lips to his forehead. “I definitely could get used to you calling me Evander.” He kissed his cheek. “Harry isn’t short for anything, is it? Not really a Henry, are you?”

“Not that I know of,” Harry said, closing his eyes, rapidly losing the ability to think as Evan kept kissing him. “Then again, I’ve never seen my birth certificate.”

Evan laughed, his lips now against Harry’s throat. “Good. I like Harry better.”

Then Evan’s lips were on his and Harry melted into his embrace. The outside world did not matter anymore, he could barely hear the howling of the wind. All that mattered was the two of them.

Their kisses grew more intense, and both were soon moaning as their bodies came together. Harry’s back was now flat against the blankets on the floor of the cave, and Evan was above him, his body feeling so warm and protective as it crouched over him that Harry never wanted to leave this spot. Evan’s lips were back on his throat, making Harry gasp as he trailed the kisses lower, towards the top of his chest. Evan reached under Harry’s clothes to find his skin and laughed against his chest.

“How many layers are you wearing?”

“It’s cold,” Harry objected, though he was now not remotely cold at all.

“This is nothing. Up in the Himalayas—”

“Yes, I know, you’ve been everywhere, just shut up and keep kissing me,” Harry said, losing patience.

He reached up and took off the top layers himself as Evan did likewise and they were kissing again, bodies so close Harry did not mourn the lost layers of warmth. He was now only in a thin t-shirt, and he shuddered as Evan began rolling that up too, pressing kisses along his chest and stomach that had Harry almost bursting with desire. He grabbed at Evan’s own shirt himself and practically tore it from him, half sitting up so he could kiss him there too. Evan sat back, arching his neck back as Harry kissed every inch he could reach, running his hand over the parts he could not touch with his mouth. Evan was now practically sitting in his lap, and Harry could tell they were both highly aroused. Excitement like he’d never known was now spilling through him.

A deeper moan sounded in Evan’s throat, and then he pushed Harry back until he was lying down again, Evan spreading his body over his, kissing him more and more intently until Harry was struggling to get a breath at all, but didn’t mind in the slightest. His blood was rushing through his veins like fire, mind bursting with colour and light. Evan’s hand drifted down to Harry’s stomach, resting for a moment as it traced gentle circles near the navel. Then, it dropped a little lower, reaching the top of Harry’s trousers.

“May I?” Evan breathed, lips still up against Harry’s.

Harry nodded, half delirious, a wave of new pleasure rushing through him at the very thought of it, so unlike the uncomfortable anticipation he’d had back in August the last time Evan had tried to venture there.

Evan’s hand slipped below the material and reached for him, and for the next few minutes Harry could barely think as ripples of delight shot through him. Evan’s own breath grew quicker, and he barely ceased from pressing his lips against Harry’s skin.

“Evan …” Harry gasped, and Evan brought his mouth back to his for another deep kiss, tongue penetrating his mouth and exploring further.

Evan opened his eyes and looked at Harry, eyes heavy with something Harry could now recognise as lust.

“Touch me, Harry … _please_ …”

Harry kissed him again and rolled Evan over until it was him on top, with Evan’s body beneath him. This alone was a new sensation, and Harry revelled for a moment in how good it felt, Evan’s warmth beneath him, the coldness of the cave at his back setting off a deliciously exciting contrast which thrilled him.

Now it was Harry doing the exploring, beginning with kissing Evan all across his chest, then slipping his own hand lower and lower. Nerves hit him for the briefest of seconds when he began to slip beneath the belt, but then his nerves vanished as he saw the incredible effect that had on Evan. Both of them were breathless, both of them clutched at each other ever more strongly as they discovered each other anew.

After a while, Harry withdrew his hand and kissed Evan softly once more, before rolling himself off him and coming to lie by his side.

For several minutes neither of them spoke, their bare shoulders were touching, and Harry knew Evan’s skin was just as feverish as his own. They were both breathing heavily as though they’d just run a mile. Harry was basking in a wave of pleasure, his mind swimming with a heady fuzziness. He didn’t think he could’ve formed words at all.

“Harry …” Harry turned his head to see Evan gazing at him, his own eyes half closed in content. “That was …”

Harry nodded hazily, licking his lips. “Yeah …”

Now that they were apart, Harry could suddenly feel the cold. He inched himself closer to Evan, bringing his head to rest on his chest as he had done back in London, curling his legs up towards him. Evan let it rest there, hand gently threading through his hair.

Harry felt like he’d just been Stunned and woken up. It was absolutely perfect. And they still had so much left of each other to explore …

He glanced around the cave, seeing their shirts nearby, the tangled mass of blankets, cloaks, and rumpled state of their trousers. Harry’s t-shirt was still half on, they were still half-dressed, and the floor was increasingly growing uncomfortable beneath him. It wasn’t exactly the picture-perfect scene, a little rushed, clumsy perhaps, but still so good. And there was so much more to come.

“You think we need to refine our technique?” he asked, and Evan’s chest heaved with laughter underneath him.

“Maybe, but I think I’ll enjoy that even more.”

Harry agreed. They stayed lying there like that for so long he couldn’t even have guessed how much time had passed, bathing in the floods of happiness radiating off them both.


	36. Trio of Teachers

By the time Harry and Evan had torn themselves away from each other and trudged back up to the castle through the driving sleet, they both knew they were the last ones back. There was no one on the paths around them, though Harry thought it wasn’t actually that late. Filch’s leer when they got back to the castle was particularly disturbing.

“Got lost, did ya?” he cackled, as he passed the Secrecy Sensors over both of them. “Don’t think I don’t know what you were up to. You’ve both to go to your Heads of Houses.”

Harry and Evan exchanged a panicked glance; did this mean they were in trouble for going off alone together, or for being late?

Harry dragged his footsteps as he went off towards Professor McGonagall’s office and Evan headed to Professor Sprout’s. By the time he knocked on her door, his stomach was in knots. He entered and found her sitting behind her desk, looking unusually grave.

“Where have you been, Potter?” she asked sharply as he sat down.

“Hogsmeade,” he said, and then wished he hadn’t, for her lips went thinner. He squirmed. “Went for a walk in the mountains. Lost track of time.”

McGonagall raised one long eyebrow, and glanced towards the windows, which were currently being battered by wind and sleet.

“In weather like this, Potter? You realise how foolish that was?”

Harry nodded, feeling suitably idiotic. Their descent from the cave had been particularly tricky, and he was splattered in mud.

“I was, in fact, aware of your location, Potter,” McGonagall said, frowning slightly. “Auror Tonks is stationed in Hogsmeade, as you know, and she saw you heading for the mountains. And who you were with.”

Harry went rigid and his eyes went wide. _No, Tonks hadn’t seen, had she?_

McGonagall seemed to realise what he was thinking. “You need not worry, Potter,” she said tightly. “She did not follow, just remained in the village until you came back. Though she maintained a magical surveillance of the area in case of any attack.”

Harry felt slightly less panicked. Though, the thought of Tonks at the bottom of that path, waiting on them was a bit embarrassing too. Had she come anywhere near the cave? Had she heard? It could not have been more obvious what they were intending to do.

McGonagall’s frown deepened. “Tonks is there because as you know, security has been greatly increased around the school. For someone like you to willingly step outside those protective enchantments with so little regard for your safety is concerning. You and I both know how dangerous this world is. This is no time for hiking in the mountains.”

Harry nodded, feeling worse than ever. He knew she was right, really. People were working so hard to keep him safe, and this was poor repayment.

Then, McGonagall’s face changed, and she looked a little paler. “Your late arrival may not have been so remarked upon had the rest of the students not been recalled so early,” she said. “There was an accident. Katie Bell was cursed.”

Harry sat in stunned amazement as McGonagall told him about Katie and a cursed necklace, how Hagrid had found Katie screaming in agony and brought her to the castle. He couldn’t have believed all this had happened while he and Evan had been curled up around each other so happily.

“What does the necklace look like, Professor?” he asked, a new idea coming to him.

She looked confused but described it to him. Harry’s heart beat a little quicker.

“Professor, I’ve seen a necklace like that. In Borgin and Burke’s in Knockturn Alley. Ron and Hermione told me they saw Draco Malfoy going there during the summer, and I’ve seen him looking at a necklace like that before.”

“Mr Malfoy was with me in detention,” McGonagall said, frowning. “I do not know what serious accusation you are making here but think very carefully about it.”

Harry did not argue more, but fell back, still thinking about it. Malfoy had been in Knockturn Alley, and he’d been swaggering around with more than the usual amount of bravado lately. Had he possibly done it? But why? What did he have against Katie, or anyone else at Hogwarts—at least, enough to want them dead? Perhaps he was just biased after all Malfoy’s despicable comments about him and Evan lately, but he wouldn’t be surprised to find he had done it.

“You see how dangerous things are?” McGonagall said, looking at him imploringly. “Someone was in Hogsmeade with the intention of seriously harming someone else on the same day you decide to go wandering off on your own. There will be no punishment this time, Potter, but I am telling you to exercise much better judgement in future, do you understand?”

Harry grudgingly nodded. “Yes, Professor.”

As Harry stood up to leave, she spoke again, one eyebrow quirking slightly.

“I once had to have a similar conversation with your father on this subject, Potter,” she said, staring him down. “He and your mother often liked wandering off into the mountains too.”

Harry blushed furiously. “Professor, I—”

“No need to explain,” she said, curtly. She eyed him acutely. “I understand the current school climate makes it perfectly reasonable that you and Mr Turner would prefer somewhere more private. But Potter, do you _really_ expect me to believe that after years of sneaking around at night you do not know this castle well enough by now to find somewhere more appropriate?”

Harry thought his face might now be as scarlet as his Gryffindor scarf. He muttered something incoherent under his breath before dashing off, almost certain he saw a brief amused smile on McGonagall’s lips as he closed the door.

* * *

On Monday evening he repeated his suspicions about Malfoy to Professor Dumbledore, but was more or less dismissed completely before he took Harry back into the Pensieve. Harry knew it was a flimsy accusation anyway but had to say it regardless. After Dumbledore had shown him the memory of the first time he had met the young Voldemort, he tentatively broached a new subject, one which already had him squirming in embarrassment.

“Sir,” he said, swallowing hard. “Am I—am I allowed to tell Evan about any of this? The prophecy, or—or this?”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and regarded him for a long time, so long in fact that Harry began to think he was being dismissed.

“You and he have grown very close, Harry,” he observed after a few moments. Harry looked away, not wanting Dumbledore to perhaps look into his mind and see _how_ close.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. There was no point in denying it; Dumbledore knew the truth anyway, and he was sure Tonks or McGonagall had told him about wandering off with Evan the other day.

Dumbledore sighed, and appeared to be thinking hard. “I am happy for you to tell Mr Weasley and Miss Granger about all of this, Harry,” he began, “because they have proven themselves loyal friends over several years. They can be trusted.

“Evan can too,” Harry objected straight away, but Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him.

“Perhaps he can,” Dumbledore said, lips twisting ruefully. “But the fact remains, he has been in your life only a matter of months. You may now be experiencing the flush of first love, but teenage romances are notoriously fickle. Who is to say you will still feel the same a year from now? Or that he will prove trustworthy against your enemies? Both your friends have faced down Death Eaters with you before now.”

Harry was stung by this. “What, you think I’m just caught up in some flimsy infatuation? He’s helped me with so much and you’re not even giving him a chance—”

“I am, Harry,” Dumbledore said, looking over the top of his glasses at him. “I am allowing your relationship to take its natural course with no interference from me instead of demanding you stay away in the name of security. I do not wish to regulate your personal life. Mr Turner has proven to be an excellent student, and a good companion to yourself judging by your admirable defence of him. All I ask is for some time. Time before I can … let’s say, ‘bring him into the fold’. I am as careful with everyone I take into my confidence, Harry. I learned my lesson with Peter Pettigrew. And he had years of friendship to speak for him.”

Harry scowled, not happy at Evan being compared to Wormtail of all people. “So, you’re checking him out basically?”

“Something like that,” Dumbledore said, sighing. “I ask that you not tell him yet, Harry. Not until some more time has passed. If it is any comfort to you, I approve of him already. His parents are long-time supporters of mine and he has proven remarkably resilient over his life. I … happen to know of a young girl who faced similar difficulties to what he did in his early life but tragically failed to recover. I have a great respect for him and what he has had to overcome to be here. Please, be patient.”

Harry wasn’t happy, but he grudgingly assented. He desperately wanted to share this with him, ease some of the burden of the prophecy, but he knew he had to do as Dumbledore wanted. Evan would prove himself eventually; he’d already done it with Harry. He wondered curiously about this girl Dumbledore had mentioned, and why his voice had grown a touch quieter when he mentioned her, but he did not ask, sensing it was personal.

“I also have to speak with you about your … lapses in judgement,” Dumbledore said, moustache twitching. “I am aware of your abscondment from Hogsmeade, and also your night time walks across the grounds, both of which were observed by Tonks. At any other time, I would have let it slide, but these are dangerous times. Please, think more carefully. I know Professor McGonagall has spoken about this to you already.”

Harry flushed and wanted to retort angrily. How exactly were they ever supposed to be together if they were restricted like this?

“Sir, you don’t know what it’s like—”

“Oh, but I do, Harry,” Dumbledore said. He looked down at his hands for a moment or two mulling something over, before lifting his piercing blue eyes to Harry’s again. “I know exactly what it is to be young, questioning your sexuality and wish to be alone to explore it. I myself am gay.”

Harry’s jaw dropped; he hadn’t been expected _that_. Somehow, it always just seemed easier to picture teachers without any sexuality at all.

Dumbledore seemed amused by his reaction, almost as if he knew what Harry had just been thinking.

“It is not a widely known fact, so I would be grateful if you did not share it. Unfortunately, as you know, there are still many prejudiced attitudes around. But it does give me a greater insight into what you are experiencing at present.”

Dumbledore leaned in closer, and a sadness clouded his eyes as he hesitated before speaking again. “I was not much older than you are now when I found a boy I thought I could trust with everything,” he said, looking somewhere over Harry’s shoulder, as though unable to meet his eye. “Unfortunately, that was one of the greatest errors I ever made and led to disastrous consequences for me and my family. I do not speak lightly, Harry, when I tell you that you must be careful not to allow the folly of young love to run away with you. Be patient, build upon what you have. In time, that effort will be rewarded.”

Harry nodded as Dumbledore leaned back and began staring down at his fingernails so as to not have to look at Harry, his beard quivering slightly. He felt very awkward at this apparent display of emotion. All thoughts of asking who this boy had been evaporated instantly. He shelved his curiosity as best as he could.

Dumbledore glanced at the darkening sky and announced it was time to go, and Harry was more than eager, desperate to get out of this intensely personal discussion.

“As irksome as you may find these restrictions, Harry,” Dumbledore said as he left, now able to look at him again, “they are all in the name of your safety. Please no not broach them again.”

“I won’t, sir,” Harry said, entirely intending to keep that promise now. He turned and left before he could observe any more of these strange emotions from Dumbledore.

* * *

Harry did as he was asked by both Dumbledore and McGonagall and no longer went roaming at night with Evan, though it was a hard ask. He did not even think using the Invisibility Cloak would be enough to escape Dumbledore’s attention, so he and Evan contented themselves as best as they could with meeting in the library as often as they got the chance. It wasn’t ideal, but better than nothing, and they got bolder and bolder with their stolen kisses and touches beneath the table. After the events in the cave, Harry was eager for more, to perhaps go even further, but finding privacy at Hogwarts was difficult. He thought about the Room of Requirement, but every time he walked past the place there was someone standing there, a younger girl usually, waiting to meet with someone, and he never got the chance to get inside. The old secret passageways on the Marauder’s Map became the next best thing, and they stole away to these dark spaces regularly, though, as Harry knew Ron and a few other students were aware of them, they could not get too comfortable.

Unfortunately, a side effect of all this increased meeting in the library was that Hermione had noticed. She seemed quite pleased that Harry was apparently beginning to take his classes more seriously, but often joined them for study sessions during which time she worked on Ancient Runes with Evan. While Harry was pleased to see her taking an interest in Evan, it meant they could be less openly affectionate, though Evan still did manage to surprise him with the occasional grope under the table when Hermione had her nose stuck in her copy of _Spellman’s Syllabary._ Harry was discovering more and more that Evan had quite a mischievous streak, and quite enjoyed seeing Harry’s discomfort in situations like this as Harry tried desperately not to react and alert Hermione. Fortunately, Hermione seemed to miss any flirtatious glances they had for each other.

Ron sometimes came too, but he was more watchful. He seemed to distrust Evan completely, worried that perhaps Evan would make some sort of unwanted move on Harry which would lead to greater gossip. While Harry could appreciate Ron trying to be protective of him, it did not make it any less annoying. Ron’s comments about Evan became increasingly clipped.

“I think he’s jealous, Harry,” Hermione told him one time, when it was just the two of them. “You’ve never had another close guy friend before. Maybe he feels a bit left out.”

Harry had never considered this as a possibility, and frankly found it a bit childish, but he did make more effort to ensure he spent time with Ron away from Evan, playing Quidditch or just hanging out the way they used to. To his surprise, Ron’s mood lifted slightly, and their old friendliness came back. Harry hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it.

Now that he was convinced he was bisexual, his mind was really beginning to open up to the possibility of being more confident about it. Going to Hogsmeade with Evan had been wonderful (in more ways than one) and he longed for the chance for another ‘date’, where he could go somewhere with him. The opportunity seemed to present itself when Slughorn finally managed to get Harry and Evan to agree to attend one of his Slug Club dinners. Harry was dreading it but was reassured at least by the fact that Evan would be there.

Half an hour before the dinner started, he was sitting with Evan in an abandoned classroom near Slughorn’s office. They were on the floor, legs outstretched, hand in hand.

“D’you think he’ll miss us if we just didn’t go?” Evan groaned, resting his head against the wall. “He must know I won’t be talking at all.”

“So, you’ll just leave me to it?”

“You’re better at talking than I am,” Evan said, shaking his head. “I just say the wrong thing. Then everyone looks at me as though I’m crazy.”

“I know how that feels,” Harry muttered. “Come on, it’ll just be stories about the match, right? We can handle that.”

“You can.” Evan sighed. He dropped his head to rest it on Harry’s shoulder. “Snape was right that time: I think I do need you to rush in and save me. That last dinner was excruciating.”

“Don’t you ever dare say Snape is right about anything,” Harry said, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “You don’t need me to save you. You do that pretty well yourself. Did I tell you? Dumbledore thinks you’re ‘remarkably resilient’.”

“Really?” Evan frowned. “I suppose he did say something like that when we met before I came here. Mentioned something about someone else he’d known who’d had difficulty controlling their magic as a kid. He praised me for overcoming it.”

“You see?” Harry said, smiling at him. “You can handle this.”

“Alright.” Evan sighed and sat back up. He kissed Harry quickly and got to his feet. “I just hope you don’t expect us to go to this Christmas party he’s having.”

Harry chuckled as he stood up to stand at his side. “I don’t really want to, but I think he’ll find a way. I wish I could go with you. I mean _really_ go with you, not just show up as friends.”

Evan had been on his way to the door but paused when Harry said this. His face had twitched slightly, and he turned to look at Harry a little uncertainly. “Are you saying … you want to come out?”

Harry’s heart skipped a little, but he refused to let himself panic. He moved over towards Evan.

“I think so,” he said, softly, “but I’m still a bit … reluctant. I did say I’d tell Ron and Hermione by Christmas. How about … I tell them sometime before the party … and go with you? I don’t think Slughorn would take too long to spread it around the school. Might be an easier way of going about it.”

Evan seemed to be holding his breath, and he reached out to hold Harry’s hand in his. “I don’t want you to feel pressured,” he said, but Harry had already seen the spark of hope in his eyes. “I’ll be with you at the party no matter what.”

“I know, but I’m starting to want to be more honest about it,” Harry said, looking down at their hands. “I don’t like hiding you any more. I never really did. If I … If I set some sort of goal like this … it makes it easier. It’s almost two months away. Plenty of time to tell the other two and get comfortable with it before everyone else finds out for definite.”

Evan nodded, and Harry could see with a huge sense of gratitude how Evan was trying to act casual about it, as though this wasn’t the thing he was desperately hoping for. He wanted to do this for Evan; he knew how much Evan hated being hidden by him the way he’d been all his life. It meant a lot to him, but he was still able to consider what Harry needed and wanted. It just made Harry all the more crazy about him.

“Come on, let’s go,” Harry said, tugging him by the hand towards the door and out into the corridor. “If we arrive dramatically late, we won’t _need_ to wait until Christmas.”

As they arrived, Hermione looked up and her eyes narrowed a little suspiciously, but said nothing as he and Evan took their seats. Slughorn, predictably, was thrilled to see them, and plagued them with question after question about the match and about their Quidditch careers in general, which they endeavoured to answer without sounding too wearied. The other students who had been roped into these dinners also asked questions, with the exception of Blasie Zabini who simply looked bored, and Harry’s voice soon got sore from talking too much.

“What a fascinating time you must have had in Ireland,” Slughorn beamed at them across the table. “So many international stars all around you! You must have met several famous faces.”

“Uh,” Harry thought back, “a few. The team mostly, and Fowler, plus the Swedes. And I knew Viktor Krum already. But mostly, no, we just stayed at the Lodge and didn’t see anyone. Security, you see.”

“Ah, what a shame,” Slughorn said, shaking his head. “A lot of very important people were at that game, several former students of mine in fact. I wonder, did you meet the Junior Secretary of the EAQ? Former Slug Club member, Harriet Longman?”

“Don’t think so,” Harry said, looking to Evan. “We didn’t meet a lot of the officials.”

“She was a very good correspondent of mine. Gets me tickets to many international games, when I want them of course. Wasn’t able to get out to Ireland this year though. I expect you both flew amazingly.”

The other attendees nodded enthusiastically, some of them having been there, but Zabini just raised an eyebrow.

Harry kept longing for Slughorn to pick on one of the others for a while, but he kept on coming back to Harry and Evan again and again. He was simply insatiable.

“And you, Evan?” Slughorn asked, when Harry had answered the last ten questions in a row. “What about those parents of yours? How are they?”

Evan stiffened a little. “Fine, last I heard,” he said quietly.

“Happy being back at the Appleby Arrows?”

“I think so.”

Professor Slughorn took a drink of his brandy and looked around the other diners, smiling warmly. “Such excellent Quidditch players they were! Your mother was a Chaser, correct? And your father a Keeper, like you? Both in Ravenclaw, I recall. Bet they were disappointed you were a Hufflepuff!”

Harry felt a stab of annoyance towards Slughorn. Evan could not more obviously not wish to discuss his parents.

“It was the other way around,” Evan said, and Harry could tell he was struggling with how to word his correction without sounding rude. “My mother was a Keeper, and my father a Chaser. And yes, they were Ravenclaws. I don’t know what they think of me being in Hufflepuff.”

Harry looked towards him. Did this mean Evan had not been in contact with his parents at all since coming here? Had that much of a rift opened up between them?

“I’m sure they’re proud anyway,” Slughorn said, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ve settled in so well! I was almost disappointed to hear they’d retired from flying so early in their careers, but then that’s what having a child does to you! Partly the reason I never bothered myself. Still, they’ve had such a successful career since then as publicists. Helps when you know the business, eh?”

Evan obviously didn’t know what to say to this. He simply shrugged. Slughorn was not put off, and continued to question him, obviously pleased to have his attention so thoroughly.

“I never did hear why they had such a long career break,” Slughorn said thoughtfully, scratching his chin. “Almost six years, wasn’t it? Seems a strange situation. Players for five years, publicists for seven, travellers for six, and back to being publicists again! What caused them to go off travelling?”

Harry reached beneath the table for Evan’s hand, already sensing the unease radiating off of him.

“To see the world,” Evan said stiffly. “Same reason most people do.”

“And with you so young as well! You must have seen a great many things.”

“Yes.”

Harry fervently wished Slughorn was questioning him again. He was actually almost on the verge of interrupting with a question for Slughorn when someone else asked a question instead.

“Professor? Is it true you’ll be bringing some Quidditch players to the Christmas party?”

Slughorn chuckled and turned to look at the girl who had spoken. “I think we can safely arrange that. Gwenog Jones of the Holyhead Harpies is after all a close friend. And I think we may get a few others thanks to these two, including her teammate Emmeline Sanderson perhaps?”

The other boys at the dinner sat up a little more attentively. Harry laughed privately at the thought of Emmy coming here and sitting with Slughorn. She loved parties, true, but this was most definitely not her thing. His amusement must have shown on his face, because Slughorn turned to him.

“Like that idea do you, Harry m’boy? Thought you might. What a looker that girl is. Must have been hard concentrating while on that team.”

_Yes_ , Harry thought, _but not because of her._

“Emmy’s a friend, sir,” he said. “And she’s going out with Aardash Khatri now.”

“Pity,” he said, winking conspiratorially at him. “We all saw the photograph of the kiss on the cheek she gave you when you lifted that Cup! Oh well, I’m sure there’s a girl at Hogwarts who’ll catch your eye.”

Zabini gave a clearly sceptical cough, and some of the others, including Cormac McLaggen smirked knowingly. Harry kept his tongue still with difficulty. Slughorn appeared not to have noticed.

“And you, Evan? Will you be bringing a girl to the party?”

The amused looks increased, and Harry himself stared at Slughorn. Was this man really so self absorbed he hadn’t heard _any_ of the news flitting around the school?

“I won’t be,” Evan said, and Harry thought he could detect a trace of amusement on his lips. “I’m gay, sir.”

Slughorn went very pink, and he put his glass down looking awfully flustered. He rubbed at his moustache and shifted in his seat. His eyes went to Harry’s quickly and then darted away again.

“Ah, yes, I—I did see that, in the _Daily Prophet_. Though I did assume … it rarely gets things right after all … Well, no matter, no matter! Makes no difference at all. Bring a boy! If – if you want to that is …”

Slughorn took to some more flustered muttering and then turned to question Cormac McLaggen, though most in the room were still staring at Evan and Harry.

Harry’s heart sank a little. Though he didn’t remotely care about Slughorn’s opinion, he saw that this was going to be a pretty typical reaction among some people. The atmosphere had so quickly turned frosty it couldn’t help but make Harry more nervous as he thought of it. His idea of perhaps coming to Slughorn’s party as Evan’s date seemed to be rapidly diminishing in likelihood.

The party soon wrapped up after that, and people began filtering back to their common rooms. Harry walked with Hermione in the direction of the Gryffindor common room but was stopped by the sound of footsteps from behind.

“Hermione, d’you mind if I talk to Harry for a minute?” Evan said as he approached. “I need to ask him about some homework.”

“Of course not,” Hermione said, looking between them with a look which plainly said she did not believe him at all. She was soon out of sight along the corridor and Evan pulled Harry into a passageway hidden behind a tapestry.

Once inside, Evan kissed him and then pulled him into a hug.

“Don’t think too much about his reaction,” he murmured into Harry’s ear. “It won’t be the same for everyone.”

“I hope not,” Harry said, hugging him back and sighing. “I just don’t know how you don’t let it get to you. I wish I could be like that, just spit it out so calmly.”

“You will be one day,” Evan said, running his hand through his hair. “You’re brave, Harry. It’s one of the things I love most about you. You’ve faced down much worse things than that. It’s just harder when it’s something personal.”

Harry nodded, pulling back slightly. “I’ll still do it, I promise. I don’t want to make you wait.”

Evan took his face in his hands and kissed him again. “You don’t have anything to prove,” he said quietly. “If it’ll make things hard for you, and you’re not ready, it’s okay. Don’t do it just on my account.”

As Harry went back to the common room, he couldn’t help but think that Evan was _exactly_ the reason he was going to do it. Evan didn’t want to be hidden, and Harry didn’t want to hide him. He wanted to finally be brave enough to go to Slughorn’s party, hand in hand, announcing to the world that they were boyfriends.

And now he had just under two months to prepare to do it.


	37. Moods and Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few paraphrased lines from Half-Blood Prince in this chapter. Also some more Grumpy!Ron. At least this time it's mostly canon!

Harry’s first Quidditch match was beginning to approach, and he stepped up the training of his team, determined to win his first match as captain. He’d already temporarily replaced Katie Bell with Dean Thomas and they were training harder than ever, with Harry passing on some of the training techniques he’d picked up from Fowler. He quickly realised these techniques were by and large far too demanding for the majority of his team’s ability level, but he noticed a dramatic improvement nonetheless.

However, as the match approached, Ron’s nerves inevitably increased, and his moods grew fouler and fouler until Harry found it almost impossible to have a training session without wanting to strangle him. He and Hermione had had some sort of stupid argument over the Slug Club Christmas party and it was making him extremely irascible. It didn’t help that they’d found Ginny and Dean kissing in a passageway one night. Ginny had defended herself admirably and declared that since Harry had snogged Cho and Hermione had snogged Krum, why shouldn’t she be allowed to do some of her own, heavily implying that Ron was only jealous of the fact he’d never had a girlfriend himself. While Harry thought Ginny was probably right, it didn’t help with matters on the pitch, or off it, as Ron was also increasingly irate with Hermione.

And then on Wednesday, the article had come out.

Wednesday afternoons were some of the best for getting homework out of the way as they had no classes at all; Hermione and Evan were in Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures, and then double Ancient Runes together, so it was usually the best time for Harry and Ron to get some work done and spend some time together.

But today, Ron was increasingly irritable, growing as touchy as a Blast-Ended Skrewt. He scowled as he tore up parchment after parchment and tossed them into the fire. He kept looking up at Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil who were sitting nearby and laughing at something. Harry was surprised, since he’d definitely noticed Lavender being a bit more interested in Ron lately, and if Ron _did_ want to get some snogging done, as Ginny suggested, Lavender was probably his best choice as Hermione barely wanted to speak to him.

“What are you two laughing at?” he finally asked. He got up from his chair and crossed the common room. He looked down at the thing they had on the table for a few minutes, before snatching it up to loud protests and marching back over towards Harry, throwing it on the table in front of him.

Harry looked at whatever it was, and saw it was a _Witch Weekly_ article. Already knowing that it would be about him without reading it, he tried to push it back.

“I’m not interested, Ron.”

“Read it,” Ron said, and there was a tightness to his face that Harry did not like, so, reluctantly, he pulled it towards him, and felt worse as he began to read.

_Harry Potter turns up the heat in Hogsmeade_

_Everyone’s clamouring to know more about the alleged blossoming relationship between Chosen One Harry Potter and England Keeper Evander Turner, but little information has been forthcoming since Turner dramatically showed up at Hogwarts to begin formal schooling for the first time—a move many believe to have been made in order to be closer to Potter. But it appears the relationship has not fizzled out, as they were witnessed visiting the village of Hogsmeade recently on what was apparently a date._

_The weather may have been awful, but that didn’t seem to stop the two sixteen year olds as they were observed walking happily through the village together before visiting Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks, where they signed some autographs for eager fans, before heading off on a quiet private walk along a mountain path. They did not return for several hours, despite the lashing wind and sleet. It appears the romance is as strong as ever!_

_Though neither Potter nor Turner have publicly confirmed their relationship, it’s clear things are heating up, even in the cold streets of Hogsmeade. People interviewed by Witch Weekly, however, have stated that in contrast to previous reports, Potter did indeed once have a girlfriend, fellow Hogwarts student Cho Chang, and he once also brought her to Hogsmeade on a date. If true, it must be quite a shock for her to see her ex so happily enjoying his time there with another boy. The first date, which apparently took place in Madam Puddifoot’s Teashop on Valentine’s Day, ended badly according to witnesses. Is this perhaps why? Is then when she realised her boyfriend was actually gay? Was Potter in the midst of discovering his sexuality and ended the relationship with her right there? Or is this how he has chosen to break it to her; simply parading around with his new boyfriend in the same places he took his girlfriend? It could be construed as heartless, and if so, must surely lend some interesting ferocity to the their appearances against each other on the Quidditch pitch, where Ms Chang plays Seeker for Ravenclaw against Gryffindor Seeker Potter. Add Hufflepuff Keeper Turner into the mix, and this school tournament is sure to prove as competitive as any professional one!_

_There has been no comment from either boy about this trip, nor indeed, any actual confirmation of Potter’s sexuality. However, as it is public knowledge that Turner is openly gay, it is not unreasonable to assume that Potter is also, and Ms Chang was simply an unfortunate victim in Potter’s voyage of self-discovery._

Harry groaned as he finished reading. His head began to ache.

“Why did they have to drag Cho into this?” he asked bitterly. “She doesn’t deserve to have her name all over the media.”

“Forget Cho a minute,” Ron said, abruptly, sitting down and staring at him. “Is this true? Did you go to Hogsmeade with Turner?”

“Yeah, I did,” Harry said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry was irritated by his tone. “I don’t have to run everything by you, Ron,” he said. “I can go where I want with whoever I want.”

“Course you can,” Ron said, starting to look a bit hurt. “If you wanted to go with him, you should’ve just said. I know the two of us aren’t the best of friends, but you’re different. You know him better than I do.”

He started frowning, looking at Harry curiously. “Why did you keep it a secret? You told us you were going alone.”

“I didn’t,” Harry said, who now felt a little bit bad. He wished they were not in so public an area. “I met up with him on the way. We hung out. It’s not a big deal.”

“Harry,” Ron said, lowering his voice, “where did you go with him when you were alone?”

Harry stopped himself from flinching. “Just a walk, you know, around where Sirius was hiding.”

“It was blowing a gale, Harry!”

“Why is this bothering you so much?” Harry asked, getting a sickening feeling the longer he talked about this with Ron. “Is it just because you don’t like him?”

“Turner’s got nothing to do with this,” Ron said, ears going pink. “It’s you. Why did you lie? Why didn’t you tell anyone? Is this why you were late back that day? What are you hiding?”

Ron’s voice was getting a little too loud, and Harry glanced nervously over at Lavender and Parvati who were watching in interest.

“I didn’t tell you because you react like this every time,” Harry said, glaring at him. “Acting as if every second I spend with him is somehow a personal insult to you.”

“Harry,” Ron said, shaking his head. He did not look angry; in fact, he was looking more and more as if Harry were deliberately trying to hurt him. He glanced around the room and leaned in, lowering his voice. He hesitated a second before speaking. “I’m asking for the truth here. Was it a date?”

“Is it a date when you and I go?” Harry shot back, too annoyed with him and his capricious moods of the last week to want to indulge this. “Or is that okay because all the attention is on you?”

Ron looked as if Harry had slapped him. But before Harry could either shout more, apologise, or scream the truth at him in front of all these witnesses, he packed his schoolbag, hoisted it onto his shoulder and left the common room.

Harry stormed through the corridors, not really sure where he was intending to go. Already he was regretting his snappish comments to Ron. He knew Ron had a point; he _had_ lied. And he didn’t like lying to Ron.

_I should just tell him,_ Harry thought, _then he’d stop freaking out about why I’m spending so much time with Evan. He keeps asking for the truth—he must suspect something now. Keeping it secret longer will just make things worse._

Yet, telling Ron while he was still so moody all the time was not appealing.

Just as he was contemplating how to get around this, he heard another angry shout from behind him. He turned around, and groaned as he saw Cho marching towards him, a magazine in her hand, looking suitably peeved off.

“Is this true?” she demanded as she approached. There were two pink spots on her cheeks. “Is this why you ended it? You were secretly gay all along?”

“It ended between us because your friend turned in the DA!” Harry said, still too annoyed with Ron to be overly gentle. “Come on, Cho, we never worked. We were both still getting over Cedric dying. It was nothing to with me being gay, because I’m not.”

“You’re not?” Cho sounded highly sceptical. “Then why was it always so weird?”

“Because we were a weird couple and I was a clueless idiot,” Harry said. “We were terrible together.”

Cho had tears at her eyes, thereby illustrating exactly what Harry had meant by why they were so bad together.

“Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?” she asked, waving the article at him and forcing it into his hands. “For everyone to read this?”

“Yeah actually, I do,” he said, losing patience. “I’ve been putting up with it for years.”

“Everyone’s saying it had something to do with me,” she said, a tear rolling down her cheek. “That I—I was bad at kissing or something, or I was such a—a bad girlfriend that I made you gay.”

Harry felt a grudging stirring of sympathy. It wasn’t fair to her for all this to be made so public like this. She had nothing to do with him and Evan, it wasn’t right she was being dragged into the gossip just for having the misfortune to date him first, especially back when he had been so ignorant.

“You didn’t ‘make me gay’, Cho,” he said, making his voice a bit gentler. “Because I’m not. I don’t even think it’s possible to do that anyway.”

“Was it all a façade?” she asked, lips trembling. “Were you using me to try and keep your cover or something?”

The bell rang, and the corridor began filling with some people heading for dinner. Many stopped to stare at the two of them.

“No,” he said, taking a step towards her. He thought about trying to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but decided against it, especially with all the witnesses. “I swear. I genuinely liked you, Cho. I fancied you ever since the first time we played against each other. You remember? When Oliver told me to stop being a gentleman and knock you off your broom? I liked you for ages. We just didn’t work together. That was the only reason.”

She looked a bit calmer, and she stopped crying. She attempted a small smile. “Really?” she asked, hiccoughing slightly. “Because I’ve been going crazy all day thinking you were lying to me, or—or that I was some sort of experiment or something.”

“Definitely not,” Harry said, smiling back. “You’re great, Cho. You’re smart, good at Quidditch, pretty … I swear I wasn’t using you.”

There were more people staring at them now as they passed, and a few mutterings. Harry ignored them as best he could. Cho did not even seem to notice them. She was watching Harry with a new shrewdness in her eyes, a very Ravenclaw-like glance.

“You’re not gay?” she asked. “For definite?”

“For definite,” Harry said, suppressing a small smile at the thrill he still got every time he was reminded of his newfound confidence in his sexuality.

“But … you do like Evan now, right?”

There was an astuteness to her expression which Harry had never seen before. The longer he remained silent, the wider her eyes got. She nodded, and sniffed, wiping the last of her tears.

“Thanks, Harry,” she said, smiling again. “I hope you’re happy. I won’t say anything.”

She swept off along the corridor to go to dinner, and Harry was left wondering if he’d just accidentally come out to Cho. He supposed if her name was going to be dragged into all this she might as well know. It could hardly be fun for her to be painted as the duped girlfriend.

With a stab of guilt, he realised that Cho, his ex-girlfriend who he barely spoke to, now knew the truth when even his best friends didn’t. How come he found it so much easier to deal with the fact that she knew than he did with the thought of heading back upstairs to Ron and telling him everything?

He turned around and paused for a moment, wondering whether he should head down to dinner and keep his head buried in the sand or go back upstairs and talk to Ron and finally have it all out. Before he could decide, he saw Evan standing at the end of the corridor watching him with a bit of a funny expression on his face. Heedless of the crowd surging towards him, Harry headed up the corridor towards him and gently took him by the elbow to direct him into a deserted passageway. By way of explanation, he handed Evan the article.

Evan read it quickly, lips pressed together tightly. Harry slumped against the wall next to him.

“Cho got upset,” he said heavily. “Wanted to know if I was just using her. People are saying she ‘made me gay’ by being a bad girlfriend.”

“Mustn’t be nice for her,” Evan remarked, looking away from the article. He hesitated. “What did you talk to her about?”

“I just told her that I didn’t use her,” Harry said, noticing that Evan was chewing on his bottom lip nervously. “That I did actually like her. She seemed to accept it. I think I may have accidentally told her the truth.”

“I see,” Evan said, still chewing his lip. He cleared his throat. “You were smiling at each other. Obviously worked out okay.”

Harry frowned, and then a smile tugged at his lips. “Evander, are you jealous?”

“No,” he said immediately, pink flushing across his cheeks. “Just … seeing your boyfriend talking to his ex … does make you a little uneasy …”

Harry was still smiling. Aside from hearing himself described as a ‘boyfriend’, the thought that Evan could possibly be jealous was adorable.

“She’s nothing to me now, you know that, right?”

“Yes,” Evan said, shifting awkwardly on the spot. His eyebrows were furrowed. “I trust you. But … she is really pretty.”

“You noticed that?”

“I’m gay, not blind,” Evan said, rolling his eyes. “I can’t help it, Harry.”

“Why would I ever look at her again when I’ve got you?” Harry asked, sidling closer to him and quickly pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re much better looking than she ever was anyway.”

“Don’t joke—”

“I’m not,” Harry said, kissing him again. He didn’t even check the passageway for others before he did it this time; he was beginning to grow recklessly bold.

Evan sighed and leaned back. “I’m an idiot,” he said, knocking his head against the wall. “I tell myself I don’t care you’ve dated before and then I act like this. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Harry laughed, coming to stand beside him again. He took back the magazine and started flicking through it, seeing the same usual rubbish which had been in it last time he’d read it, when Skeeter had broken the ‘news’ of a love triangle between him, Hermione and Viktor. It hadn’t improved much. He paused as he came to a double page spread of pictures of Quidditch teams. He quickly picked out Emmy in her Holyhead Harpies photograph, and then Nate and Becca in the distinctive yellow and black striped robes of the Wimbourne Wasps that he had seen Bagman sporting two years ago. He found it odd seeing them in anything other than England robes.

“They been writing to you?” Harry asked Evan, flicking through to the next page where there were more photos, quickly spying Dash and Elias with their own teams.

“Yeah, they keep congratulating me on our relationship,” Evan said, smiling. “I haven’t even told them we’re in one. Guess they must have seen it coming.”

“Same,” Harry laughed. “Dash keeps writing to tell me all about Emmy. He sounds quite happy. Seems like things are going well for them. I miss them sometimes, you know.”

He turned another page and froze as he saw a team photo of the Appleby Arrows—Evan’s team. Being a reserve, and on extended leave, Evan was not in the photo, but Harry couldn’t help but look at all the other male players and wonder …

Evan had noticed his scrutiny, and now a smile was on his face.

“You’re wondering which one it was, aren’t you?” he asked, eyes glinting. “The one I fooled around with.

“No,” Harry said, lying so obviously that Evan laughed.

“That one,” Evan said, pointing to a player in the back row standing in a Chaser’s position. Harry eyed him closely. He looked young, perhaps in his late teens, and Harry wondered if he’d been at Hogwarts at the same time as him, or if he’d possibly even played against him before. He didn’t recognise him.

“He’s pretty good looking,” Harry said, shrugging, though in actual fact the player in question was definitely _extremely_ good looking.

“You hypocrite, Harry Potter,” Evan said, staring at him in mock outrage. “You’re laughing at me getting all insecure over Cho and you’re jealous of a photograph?”

“I am not,” Harry objected, though he had to admit, seeing the face of the player who had once gotten to kiss Evan before he did wasn’t nice.

Thankfully, Evan did not tease him any longer. “Don’t worry, Harry. He’s a horrible person and I’m much happier with you.”

“Good,” Harry said, stuffing the magazine into his bag. “Now prove it and kiss me.”

_Yes_ , Harry thought, as Evan obediently leaned in, _I’m definitely getting bolder._

* * *

Quidditch practices continued to get worse along with Ron’s moods, which the _Witch Weekly_ article seemed to have exacerbated. The night before the match, Ron shouted so much he reduced Demelza to tears, and the rest of the team were gunning for him.

"You need to stop this!" Harry yelled when they landed on the pitch after practice, not even caring the rest of the team were in hearing range. “You can’t keep treating the rest of the team like this. Get a grip!”

“Or what?” Ron scowled. He was gripping his broom so tightly Harry thought he might snap it in two.

“Or I’ll kick you off the team!” Harry shouted back.

“Yeah?” Ron said, a sneer on his face. “And who’re you going to replace me with the night before the game? Your boyfriend?”

Harry was struck speechless; shocked, angered, hurt by Ron’s snide comment. Not because he was remotely ashamed or embarrassed of Evan being his boyfriend, but the fact that Ron had attempted to throw it in his face like that, as an _insult_. It wasn’t the Ron he knew.

The silence stretched on as the team stared in amazement, too shocked at Ron’s outburst to do anything other than stand where they were. Ron’s anger seemed to deflate the longer the silence went on. He frowned slightly when he looked at Harry.

“You’re well out of line, Ron,” Ginny spat, breaking the tense silence. “We get that you’re nervous, but that’s no reason to turn on the rest of us. Especially Harry.”

She stalked off to the changing rooms, the rest of the team following her. Ron and Harry stayed where they were.

“I’m sorry,” Ron said, hanging his head, and looking remorseful as he seemed to sag on the spot. “I’ve been a grumpy sod all week. Ginny’s right, I’m letting my nerves get to me. I’m pathetic. Maybe you _should_ throw me off the team.”

“I can’t,” Harry said stiffly. “Evan’s in Hufflepuff.” When Ron looked up, he tried to smile a little. “Ron, you're not pathetic. You’re great when you’re on form, you really are. It’s your own head stopping you. Stop listening to it so much and just do what you’re good at.”

Ron smiled appreciatively. “Thanks, Harry.” He sighed and rubbed the side of his temple. “How did you do the European Championship? Weren’t you nervous?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “So nervous I almost ran away when the tunnel doors opened.”

“What stopped you?”

Harry thought back to all those times with Evan when he’d admitted he was nervous, when Evan had helped him overcome a mild panic attack, had smiled at him before they’d gone onto the pitch.

“I had faith in myself,” Harry responded, “and I knew that others had faith in me too. We’re part of a team, Ron. None of us are alone out there. Even Keepers and Seekers.”

They headed back towards the changing rooms as Ron considered this. Before they entered, Ron turned to him one more time, blushing.

“Sorry for what I said just now, I was being spiteful,” he said, wincing. “If you tell me Turner’s not your boyfriend, I believe you. I’m on your side, mate. Even when I’m acting like an arse.”

He clapped Harry on the back a little awkwardly and headed inside to get changed. Harry stood still long after he’d gone, thinking about how he’d just had a little stab of pain to his heart at Ron’s words when they had been nothing but supportive.

Denying Evan as his boyfriend was now not automatic, or preferable. It was downright uncomfortable, _wrong_. He didn’t think he could do it again if anyone asked. He was not happy that Ron believed him about Evan; he wanted Ron to believe the truth instead.

Now he just had to figure out _how_ he was going to tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Quidditch action in the next chapter. Been a while since we had some of that! :)


	38. Quidditch Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for some homophobic language. Some parts of dialogue have been lifted or adapted from Half-Blood Prince and mixed in with some of my own.

By the time Harry was pulling on his Quidditch robes in the changing rooms, his heart was beginning to beat a little faster. Despite playing in one of the biggest Quidditch competitions in the world during the summer, even a little school game like this could summon up some nerves. Fortunately, however, he seemed to have cured Ron of his. His little bluff with the Felix Felicis potion that morning seemed to have boosted him slightly, as well as the news that Slytherin’s best goal scorer and Malfoy were both off sick. Harry hoped it would be enough to keep him on good form during the match.

The team walked out onto the pitch to the usual roaring of the crowd, which was evenly divided into a wall of red and gold and a sea of silver and green. Harry could not help but wonder if Evan was among the Gryffindor fans cheering him on. The crowd seemed louder than usual, and Harry spied a few banners with his name on them, and a few rosettes from the England game pinned to robes. It appeared everyone was eager to see an international player take to the pitch, almost as though he hadn’t already been playing here for five years.

“Captains, shake hands,” Madam Hooch said, as she stood by to release the balls. Slytherin Captain Urquhart wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“I’m not holding hands with a homo.”

Harry thought Madam Hooch was about to spit fire. She took a step closer to Urquhart and glared at him, her yellow hawk-like eyes narrowing dangerously.

“You shake hands, or you forfeit the match. Your choice.”

Urquhart stewed for a moment before grudgingly reaching out and almost crushing Harry’s fingers under his own.

“Good,” Madam Hooch said, stepping back. “Twenty points from Slytherin by the way. And a penalty to Gryffindor. I do not tolerate attitudes like that on my pitch.”

Urquhart’s scowl grew worse, but he did not argue. The other Slytherins were smiling appreciatively, but the Gryffindors were glaring back at them, all eager to repay the insult with a sound defeat, Ron especially, who could not be more obviously ready to save each and every one of Slytherin’s attempted goals. Harry appreciated their support, especially Madam Hooch’s, and was just grateful the rest of the stadium had not heard.

The whistle sounded and Harry and the others kicked off from the frozen ground and rose into the air.

Harry began to soar around to search for the Snitch as Ginny moved forwards to take the penalty. He heard the crowd muttering in confusion; when had a match ever _begun_ with a penalty? And why? But the muttering was soon replaced by cheering as Ginny scored the first goal of the match.

Harry kept a close eye on Slytherin Seeker Harper, learning from his mistake in the summer, as he heard the voice of the new commentator. He scowled as he recognised the sneering tones of Zacharias Smith.

“Well, there they go, and a surprising start to the match with a penalty. I personally didn’t see what Slytherin did to merit one, but there you go. I think we’re all surprised to see the team Potter’s put together this year. Many thought, given Ronald Weasley’s patchy performance as Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the captain does help. Some wonder just _how_ close, given latest rumours. Potter, after all, does have previous form for going after Keepers.”

There was an outburst of laughter and jeers from the Slytherin end, but Harry was pleased to hear a great amount of booing and cries of anger from the majority of the Gryffindor supporters. Harry suddenly began to hope Evan was _not_ down below watching.

“Oh, and here comes Slytherin’s first attempt on goal, it’s Urquhart streaking down the pitch and –”

Harry’s stomach turned over.

“—Weasley saves it, well, he’s bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose.”

Harry grinned to himself as he heard this. Ron continued saving goals, and Gryffindor continued scoring them as Harry kept on searching for the Snitch, lifting his spirits, and ending Smith’s jibes about the Weasleys only being on the team because of their friendship to Harry.

“Of course, this is Potter’s first game since the England-Sweden final during the summer,” Smith said, as Ron saved yet another goal. “Some would wonder whether it’s appropriate to have a professional on a school team as it does give them a bit of an unfair advantage.”

_Yeah, like you didn’t snatch up Evan the first chance you got,_ Harry thought, flying past Smith and giving him a dirty look. _Hypocrite_.

“Potter of course got a bit of a name for himself with the use of the Wronski Feint, one of the most dangerous Seeker diversions there is. I wonder if he’ll try using it today? Harper will certainly be prepared for it.”

_Well, he will now_ , Harry thought, casting an eye back to the Slytherin Seeker. _Way to ruin the element of surprise._

“Potter will have learned lots of tricks from the training he got in the summer from Theo Fowler, a former player notorious for fouls. Madam Hooch will need to keep her eye on him for any dirty moves.”

_Why can’t he just commentate on the match instead of giving biased personal opinions_ , Harry thought to himself, shaking his head. He’d always disliked Smith.

Fortunately, Gryffindor kept doing well, and Ron even started to smile and relax, conducting a rousing chorus of ‘Weasley is our King’ from the air.

“Thinks he’s something special today, doesn’t he?” said a snide voice, and Harry was almost knocked off his broom as Harper deliberately collided with him. “Your blood traitor boyfriend? Or is it only Hufflepuff Keepers you’re interested in? Bloody poof …”

The Gryffindors howled in outrage at this obvious foul, but Madam Hooch had not seen, and Harry chased after Harper, determined to ram him back, foul or no foul …

“And I think Harper’s seen the Snitch!” said Smith through the megaphone. “Yes, he’s definitely seen something Potter hasn’t. Perhaps Potter’s gone off his game a bit since the summer.”

Harry was about to roll his eyes and call Smith an idiot, when he suddenly realised he was right; Harper had not collided just to be cruel, but had seen the Snitch glinting high above them in the blue sky.

Heart in his mouth, Harry accelerated and shot upwards with the wind whistling in his ears, drowning out the crowd, the commentary. Harper was only inches from the Snitch, hand outstretched …

“Oi, Harper!” Harry cried desperately. “How much did Malfoy pay you to come on instead of him?”

This last ditch effort to distract him seemed to work, and Harper did a double take and fumbled the Snitch. Harry soared past him, and the Snitch went into a steep dive, which Harry followed it on, enjoying the rushing sensation of falling through the air at full speed. He lifted one hand and made a swipe for the tiny ball and caught it.

“YES!” he cried, pulling up from his steep dive and lifting the struggling ball high in the air. The crowd almost drowned out the sound of the whistle that ended the game as the other Gryffindors came hurtling towards him and they met in a mid-air team hug. All with the exception of Ginny, who had gone speeding towards the commentator’s podium and collided with an almighty crash, sending wreckage piling on top of Smith and earning her a telling off from McGonagall.

Laughing, the team brought her into their embraces and landed on the ground, all enmity forgotten as Ron was hugged and clapped on the back by the rest of the team. They left the pitch arm in arm, punching the air and waving to the crowd. Harry couldn’t stop grinning; a simple school match it might be but winning still felt as good as it ever did, European Championship victor or not.

The changing room atmosphere was jubilant as the team made plans for a party in the common room, and then Harry and Ron were the last two there. They were about to leave when Hermione entered, twisting her Gryffindor scarf in her hands and looking upset.

She then began expressing her worries about what Harry had done, spiking Ron’s cup with Felix Felicis, as Ron defiantly dared her to turn them in. Harry enjoyed seeing their faces when he revealed he had not in fact spiked Ron’s drink, but just let him _think_ he had. His amusement soon drained away however, as it led to yet _another_ argument between Ron and Hermione and both stormed off angrily.

He sighed as he made to follow them, having hoped his plan might have mended things between them. He was about to join the huge crowd heading back up to the castle, when he felt someone grab him by the elbow and pull him into the shadow of the trees which stood beside the entrance to the changing rooms.

Harry grinned as he recognised Evan’s face briefly before he had pulled Harry into a congratulatory kiss. He soon lost all sense of time as they stood there, half leaning against a tree, kissing in the semi-light.

“Well done, Harry,” Evan said, when they’d finished. “That was brilliant. You need to stop doing dives like that though. They scare the hell out of me.”

“That’s part of the fun,” Harry laughed. “They’re supposed to be scary. It’s the only thing that gets the heart racing.”

Evan raised one eyebrow, and one corner of his mouth twisted upwards. “The only thing?”

“Well, no, that’s not quite right,” Harry said, reaching for Evan, smiling. “You do a pretty good job of that too.”

They kissed again, and then Evan stepped back. “Your team’s really good. You must be a great captain.”

“I’m trying to be,” Harry said, still standing with his arms around Evan. “But managing tactics is only half of it. The personnel side of it is trickier. I’ve suddenly got a lot more sympathy for Fowler.”

“Wow, it must be bad,” Evan said. “I saw Ron and Hermione coming out before you looking pretty mad. What happened?”

Harry explained the entire Felix Felicis debacle to him, and Evan frowned.

“Ron’s actually quite a sensitive person, isn’t he? He’s very insecure.”

“He’s a grumpy git,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Getting into a mood because Hermione used to go out with Krum and—”

“Wait, Hermione once went out with _Viktor Krum?”_

“Yeah,” Harry said, skipping over this and ignoring Evan’s shock, “and now his sister’s going out with someone too. Dean, who’s the guy I got to replace Katie Bell. Makes practices a bit awkward. Ron’s just annoyed he’s the only one not to have dated anybody, and he’s too stubborn to admit he likes Hermione.”

“And she him, I guess,” Evan said. “Can’t blame her though when he acts like this. They just can’t be honest, can they?”

“No, I suppose not,” Harry said, thinking hard about something. Ron wasn’t being honest about why he was really upset with Hermione, but then, Harry wasn’t exactly being honest with him either, or telling him why Ron’s comments sometimes hurt him more than he let on.

“Hey, why did the match start with a penalty?”

Harry grimaced, and his grip around Evan tightened. “Urquhart refused to shake hands and called me a—well, you know. Hooch called him out on it.”

“Oh,” Evan said, frowning. “Did that upset you?”

Harry was quiet for a moment, looking away from Evan, but pulling him slightly closer. “No, actually,” Harry said. “I was annoyed, but not upset. I expect that from them. I just brushed it off the way I usually brush off mean things from them.”

Evan reached for Harry’s hands which were clasped around his back and held them tightly. “I’m glad,” he said softly. “I don’t want you to be upset by comments like that. It’s horrible, but learning to ignore stuff like that becomes easier.”

Harry smiled, and rested his forehead against Evan’s for a moment. “I guess I’m just trying to take after you. I don’t want to let things get to me anymore.”

Evan kissed him swiftly, and Harry moaned slightly when he drew away.

“Wish you could come up to the party,” he said, closing his eyes as Evan’s hands roamed across his chest. “I could sneak you in.”

“I think a Hufflepuff wouldn’t be welcome,” Evan laughed, still exploring with his hands, reaching inside Harry’s jacket and slipping a hand under his shirt. “After all, we’re going to beat you when we play in a few months.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Harry murmured, eyes still closed as Evan’s hands continued moving across his skin. “I’ve seen how you Keep. I’m sure I can get my Chasers around you.”

Evan laughed, and leaned in to whisper in Harry’s ear, his hot breath tickling his skin in a deliciously erotic fashion. “The only thing I want around me is you.”

Harry laughed, even as there was a swooping sensation in his gut, and he moved closer to Evan. “That was ridiculously corny, you know.”

“I agree, now what would you have said?”

Harry didn’t say anything, but just took Evan by the hand and led him further into the darkness of the little copse of trees, shielding them from the eyes of the castle. Harry was expected at the party, but he didn’t really care at the moment. He had some celebrating to do here first.

* * *

When Harry finally made it up to the common room, it was to see with some surprise that Ron was sequestered in a corner with Lavender Brown, the two standing so closely it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

“Hypocrite, isn’t he?” Ginny said, with some disgust. “Looks like he’s eating her face. Still, I suppose he’s got to refine his technique somehow.”

Harry looked away from the two, who looked just as wrapped up in each other as he and Evan had just been, and saw Hermione leaving the common room. He rushed after her, finding her in the first unlocked classroom he tried, sitting on a desk just underneath a ring of twittering yellow birds she had just conjured out of mid-air.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” she said in a brittle voice. “I was just practicing.”

“Yeah … they’re – er—really good.”

He had no idea what to say to her, how to comfort her. He was beginning to hope she simply hadn’t seen when she said, “Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations.”

“Er … does he?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t see him,” said Hermione. “He wasn’t exactly hiding it, was he?”

“No,” Harry said quietly. “I’m sorry. It—it can’t be nice to see that.”

He fell into an awkward silence and began thinking of what Evan had said.

“This whole thing with you two is so stupid,” he said, frustrated. “Why can’t both of you just be honest with each other?”

Hermione turned on him in a flash of fury. “ _You_ lecturing _me_ about honesty?” she said in a shrill voice. “That’s rich!”

“What d’you mean?” Harry asked, but his heart had sunk, knowing exactly what she had meant.

“I’m not an idiot, Harry!” she cried, leaping off the desk. “I saw Evan hanging around the changing room entrance and I’ve got a pretty good guess why you’re so late up to the party!”

Harry was momentarily stunned into silence, but was thankfully distracted from having to summon up an answer when the door to the classroom burst open behind them. To his horror, however, Ron came in, laughing, pulling Lavender by the hand.

“Oh,” he said, pulling up short when he saw the two of them. He looked uncertainly between the two.

“Oops!” Lavender said, backing out of the room, giggling.

There was a horrible silence for several minutes, as both Ron and Hermione refused to look at each other. A few minutes later, however, Hermione had left in a rage, and the twittering birds around her head had descended to attack both boys.

“What have _you_ done?” Ron yelled, as the little birds continued to attack them.

Harry didn’t tell him, though that was partly due to the fact he was attempting to escape Hermione’s attack. He knew it was justified.

Hermione was right; he had no business in calling anyone out for lying or concealing anything.

* * *

Harry spent much of the next week thinking over what Hermione had said. She was perfectly right in suggesting he was also being dishonest, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it right now. Ron was in a far better mood than he’d ever been, but since he was so completely wrapped up in Lavender (quite literally) all the time, he could barely find any time to talk to him, and he only got the chance to catch Hermione at the end of the day since she refused to talk to Ron or be around him at all.

Harry now really felt he was ready to tell the truth, but this was certainly not the way he wanted to come out to them. He wanted them to be able to be in the same room as each other without fighting for one thing. The thought of telling them when they were so at odds with each other was daunting. He needed their support, not to have to constantly watch them bickering with each other, have to split his time between them like a child of divorced parents. Finding an opportunity to talk to either of them was proving impossible. And besides, Lavender was around so much that Ron barely noticed him anyway.

He focused his attention on Evan instead, since neither Ron nor Hermione would notice long absences from them, and their meetings in the private passageways increased in frequency, as well as boldness. Harry frequently found himself getting entirely carried away and had to remind himself several times that they could be discovered at any moment to stop himself. The weather was too cold and frosty and the light lost so soon these days that walking in the grounds before nightfall was proving difficult.

Evan’s first Hogwarts Quidditch match was approaching, Hufflepuff against Ravenclaw, and Harry was finding himself quite eager to see Evan flying again. When he walked down to the pitch with Ron (Lavender clinging to his arm like a limpet) he was nursing a great excitement to hopefully see Evan triumph.

They took their seats in the stands, and as Ron and Lavender immediately began snogging, Harry peered down to the pitch to where he could see the Hufflepuff team walking out to the cheers of the crowd. He caught sight of Evan immediately by his subtly golden hair, which was matched by his canary yellow Hufflepuff robes. He also saw Cho standing with her team, her black hair rippling in the wind, and felt a strange fluttering in his stomach to see his ex going up against his current boyfriend. He wondered if Evan was feeling anything about it, or if Cho did, and if it would increase the sense of rivalry.

Soon, the game was in play and Evan had sped off towards the goalposts, taking his customary position in the centre and employing his usual lurking strategy. Harry kept his eyes on him completely, admiring the way his body moved, how well he sat on his broom. He had almost forgotten how naturally he flew, how it made Harry feel to watch him.

He was so distracted he at first failed to notice that someone, possibly someone who had been Confunded, had made Luna Lovegood the commentator while Zacharias was playing.

“Well, that’s a nice start to the match,” Luna said dreamily, as the players began dancing and weaving in amongst each other in the air. “Ravenclaw’s got the Quaffle, which is a good thing for us … but they’re going to the goals now. Are they going to score?”

But Evan blocked the shot easily, sending the Hufflepuff supporters, including Harry, into a clamouring of applause.

“Turner _is_ a really good Keeper,” Luna noted. “He played for England, you know.”

The Hufflepuffs roared again as Evan blocked another shot at the goalposts, and Harry grinned. Everyone must be able to see just how skilled he was. He barely even looked as if he was being challenged.

“He _is_ good, isn’t he?” Ron said, having torn himself away from Lavender for a while, watching as Evan blocked the tenth goal. “Blimey, he’s incredible. We don’t stand a chance against Hufflepuff with a Keeper like him.”

Ron’s envy was obvious, and as Evan blocked another two, he whistled loudly. “How does he do it?” he asked. “He makes it look so easy. When we play them, you’re going to need to get the Snitch faster than you ever have before because there’s no way we’re getting past that, and I can’t save goals like him.”

Harry was smiling, and applauded as Evan saved another, pleased that Ron was praising him for once. “I know his tactics, remember? We trained together. We’ll find a way.”

Ron looked at Harry. “You really admire him, don’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Harry replied, yelling over the roaring of the crowd as the score came to one hundred and thirty – zero to Hufflepuff. “He’s an amazing player.”

Ron nodded in agreement, but continued watching Harry strangely for several minutes, before returning to Lavender. Harry didn’t even attempt to hide his support of Evan, clapping and cheering with the rest of the Hufflepuff fans. There was a stirring of some powerful emotion in his chest as he watched Evan play. Was it pride? He couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that watching Evan play, and play so well, made him insanely happy, even despite the eventual problems it would pose for his own team.

Cho soon saw the Snitch, and Harry watched breathlessly as she and Hufflepuff Seeker Summerby fought for it for a few minutes. Cho came out on top, but Hufflepuff’s score was so high that they ended up winning anyway, and the final score was Hufflepuff: one hundred and seventy, Ravenclaw: one hundred and fifty.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Luna said over the sounds of the Hufflepuff cheers. “We lost. But good catch from Cho Chang. I just wish she’d seen the Snitch a little sooner so we could have won. Maybe a Wrackspurt distracted her …”

“What did she catch it for?” Ron asked, ungluing himself from Lavender again as the crowd went wild for the celebrating Hufflepuff team as they landed. “They were behind!”

“Probably realised they’d never catch up,” Harry said, clapping as he looked down at Evan on the ground, who was being embraced by the rest of his team, even Smith. “Evan’s too good. If the final score difference isn’t too bad, it means they’ve got a chance to make it up in another game.”

Ron shrugged, obviously not too interested in the results of the game, and as they left the stadium, he and Lavender resumed their snogging. Harry was almost impressed by the way they managed to do that and walk at the same time.

Seeing that Ron would not miss him, he went to the entrance of the changing rooms as Evan had done for him but saw a huge crowd of Hufflepuffs had gathered outside, all apparently waiting to congratulate their new Keeper. Harry hung back and watched as the team began coming out to loud cheers and applause. The biggest roar, however, was reserved for Evan when he appeared, and they all surged forwards to hug him, clap him on the back or shake his hand.

Harry watched for a while, amused by the slight blush on Evan’s cheeks. But then everything changed. Evan’s cheeks grew pale as the crowd increased and their jostling grew worse. Their reaching hands were grabbing at him, and he was actively trying to get away, but was prevented by the mass of people around him. To his horror, Harry recognised the signs of a panic attack, as Evan began to hyperventilate, and bent over as he tried to catch a breath. The crowd kept coming.

Without wasting any time, Harry too ran forwards, elbowing his way through the crowd mercilessly, desperately trying to reach Evan.

“Back off!” he cried to those closest, but they either did not hear, or did not care.

Harry reached Evan, who was by now almost bent double and breathing rapidly. He was about to draw his wand and threaten those closest when he heard a booming voice across the crowd.

“GET LOST THE LOT OF YEH! BACK TER YER COMMON ROOM NOW!”

“Hagrid!” Harry cried, seeing Hagrid’s great hulking form approaching through the crowd, which was parting like water in the face of his massive bulk. “He needs help.”

“Take him ter me hut, Harry,” Hagrid said, casting one eye over him. “I’ll handle this lot.”

Harry nodded, grabbing Evan by the hand and leading him away, half stumbling, half being dragged, as Hagrid continued bellowing at the crowd of overexcited Hufflepuffs, preventing them from following. Harry did not stop until they had crossed the short distance to Hagrid’s hut, climbed in and slammed the door behind him.

Evan was trembling so badly Harry thought he might collapse entirely so he directed him gently to Hagrid’s bed where he got him to sit down. It was then Harry saw just how severe it was, and that all Evan’s panicked moments up until now had been relatively mild. This was a full blown panic attack, and Harry was almost scared to see how it affected him.

Evan’s face was chalk white and his eyes were wide and terrified. He was gasping for breath, one hand at his chest and the other at his throat as though he was being choked. He didn’t even seem to recognise Harry.

Harry didn’t know what to do but was desperate to do _something_. He tentatively reached out to touch him on the shoulder as he sat by his side, and rubbed it gently, fearful of making it worse.

“It’s okay, Evan,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound patronising. “You’re safe. You’re here, you’re with me. You’re safe.”

It didn’t seem to be making any difference, but Harry kept it up anyway, repeating himself in as soothing a voice as he could. “Breathe with me, Evan. The way we did in the summer. You said that helps you. Let’s try it.”

Evan was choking by now, but he at least seemed to be able to hear him, and started trying to do as he said, breathing in and out in ragged fashion, though still clutching his chest as though it pained him. After a few minutes, his breathing eased a fraction.

“H-Harry,” he gasped, rocking back and forth.

“I’m here,” Harry said, moving a touch closer. “You’re doing so well, Evan. What do you need?”

Evan didn’t seem to be able to speak for a moment or two, still scrabbling at his chest and throat as though there were something heavy pressing down on them.

“H-hold me,” he choked out, tears leaking from his eyes. “P-please. Hold me. Help me.”

Harry did as he asked, pulling Evan into his arms, letting him rest his head against his chest while Harry rubbed his back in what he hoped was a comforting fashion. Evan continued breathing heavily, and Harry rocked them back and forth again, murmuring to him softly. “You’re safe, Evan. You’re going to be okay. Keep breathing like this. Slowly, okay? I’m here.”

If it was his words or his presence, Harry didn’t know, but Evan’s panic began to decrease slightly after a while. He was clutching Harry desperately, his face still pressed against him, entire body shaking. Harry kept holding him tightly, letting Evan know he was there for him, pressing the occasional kiss to his forehead, which was slick with a cold sweat.

Eventually, Evan’s vicelike grip ended, and he sat himself up, shuddering. He was breathing more or less normally now, but he still shook, and he was crying openly. He reached for Harry’s hands and held them tightly.

“I was so scared, Harry,” he whispered through his tears. “It’s like I thought I was going to die or something.”

Harry felt like crying himself. He held Evan’s hands more tightly. “You’re safe now, Evan.”

Evan nodded, breathing short quick breaths and then a few long ones. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. More tears leaked out.

“I’m such an idiot,” he moaned, choking on another sob. “I thought I was over this.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Harry said in distress. “You’re not an idiot. Don’t ever think that.”

Evan shook his head jerkily. “This is the worst it’s been in a while,” he said. “It—it was okay in the summer. All those people – I’d expected them. I—I didn’t get t-too worried. And there were Aurors. They helped. I c-could prepare. But all of them … so suddenly … it just … I couldn’t …”

“It’s okay,” Harry said, squeezing his hands gently.

“It’s not,” Evan said, shaking his head again and opening his eyes as more tears spilled out. “I’m broken, Harry. It’s pathetic. The accident happened nine years ago. I sh-should be over it by now.”

“It’s not your fault,” Harry said, reading one hand up to cup his cheek. “There’s no time limit. You’re not broken, and you’re not pathetic. You’ve suffered. But you can get better. Look how well you’ve done till now. One setback is nothing.”

Evan sniffed, and leaned into Harry’s hand. “It’s been so bad, Harry,” he said weakly. “When I was … when I was little. This would happen every day—several times a day sometimes. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t do anything. It was like I was dying a little each time. And m-my magic would just burst out. People got hurt. I hurt myself. And I-I’m terrified it’ll happen again. That I could hurt someone, hurt _you_.”

“It’s not going to happen again,” Harry said determinedly. “You’re amazing, Evan. You learned to control your magic. Even Dumbledore was impressed. You’ve worked so hard at it for so long. Something like this isn’t going to destroy all that because you’re not going to let it. You’re one of the strongest people I know. You hear me? _You can handle this_.”

Evan nodded, looking too weak to argue, and seemed to collapse right into Harry’s arms, leaning his head against his shoulder and silently still crying, breathing only beginning to sound completely normal again, and his shaking still not over. He reached for Harry’s hand again, and Harry held it, letting Evan just take comfort in him being there, not attempting to speak again.

It was only after several minutes, that Harry realised they were not alone. At some point, Harry had no idea when, Hagrid had entered his hut and was standing by the doorway, not moving further inside as if to give them some privacy.

“When did you come in?” Harry said in somewhat of a panic. Evan did not stir at all, just continued sitting leaning against Harry, holding his hand.

“Don’ matter,” Hagrid said gruffly. “Stay as long as yeh need. Crowd’s away now.”

Hagrid stomped in a little and fetched a glass of water to hand to Evan.

“’Spect ye’d like summat a bit stronger, but it’s all I’ve got at the mo,” he said, as Evan took it and started sipping slowly. “Madam Pomfrey’d get yeh a Calmin’ Draught if yeh went up and asked her.”

“Thanks,” Evan said weakly. “I’ll go later.”

Hagrid’s eyes fell down to Harry’s lap, where Harry was still holding Evan’s hand. His lips twitched a little.

“It’s true then?” he asked, raising his eyes to Harry’s. “The stories ‘bout you two?”

Evan looked as though he was about to try and speak, but Harry beat him to it.

“Yes,” he said, staring up at Hagrid without a trace of embarrassment. “He’s my boyfriend.”

It was the first time he’d said the words out loud, and Harry found he had quite enjoyed it. Something had seemed to settle in his chest as he’d said it, something warm and comforting. Evan’s head snapped up and he stared at Harry in something like shock, but Harry was still looking at Hagrid.

Hagrid’s bushy eyebrows had risen briefly, but then his mouth widened into a huge smile behind his beard.

“Pleased fer yeh both,” he said warmly. “Knew there was summat to it, but yeh didn’ seem ter want ter talk ‘bout it. Glad yeh can now. Yer a good match.”

Relief flooded through Harry as he realised how worried he’d been that Hagrid would somehow reject him, or act all flustered as Slughorn had. He almost found himself crying as Evan had been, he was so happy that Hagrid, the man who’d delivered him into the wizarding world in the first place accepted his new boyfriend with as much kindness as he’d accepted Harry into his life.

“Do Ron and Hermione know?” Hagrid asked, seeing that Harry seemed to be overcome for a moment.

He shook his head. “Not yet. I’m telling them soon.”

“Good,” Hagrid said. “They’ll be happy fer yeh too. I know it. An’ yeh don’ want ter keep hidin’ now, do yeh?” He beamed at Harry. “Listen, I’ll go on up an’ get tha’ Calmin’ Draught from Madam Pomfrey fer yeh. Give yeh two a bit o’ privacy, eh?”

Harry thanked him, and Hagrid just smiled again and left the cabin. Harry tightened his hold on Evan, and was surprised when Evan sat up and looked at him, eyes wide.

“You told him,” he said, sounding astonished, most of his panic gone. “You—you just came out and said it.”

Harry nodded. “I meant it, Evan. I don’t want to hide it anymore. I’m taking it one step at a time, but I’m getting there.”

Evan’s face split into a warm grin and he threw his arms around Harry, holding him close. He still shook slightly, but Harry just held him close, closing his eyes and thinking about how much he cared for this boy here in his arms, how brave he was, how resilient, and just how lucky he himself was for having found him.


	39. Room of Requirement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for disappearing the last couple of weeks! Basically, Covid related issues with work were the problem. But hopefully I've now got a handle on those so updates should be regular again. 
> 
> I'll upload two chapters today to make up for it 😊

For the next couple of weeks, Harry contemplated various ways on how to finally tell Ron and Hermione the truth, made all the more difficult by the fact the two of them were seldom in the same room together. He lay and rehearsed it for hours before going to sleep and thought about it during long lunches and dinners during which Ron seemed to spend more time kissing Lavender than eating anything. Everything he seemed to want to say sounded stupid, and though he knew Hermione would be supportive, he was still unsure of Ron. Should he tell them separately, or together? Should he mention it casually, or sit them down for a serious conversation? Or should he do what Ron had done and just start snogging Evan in public? That’d certainly get the message across.

In the first week of December, Harry was distracted from thinking this by the printing of a disturbing article in the _Daily Prophet_. He opened the paper at the breakfast table, noticing that Ron had not yet seen it and read, his heart skipping several beats.

_TURNER’S TRAGIC TRAUMA_

_As a Daily Prophet exclusive, we can reveal to you, our readers, details about the early life of England Keeper Evander Turner which are sure to shock and perhaps even distress. Sixteen-year old Turner has an incredibly dark past that has left him with lasting trauma which could cause him to be unstable, or possibly dangerous._

_It has been discovered that when Mr Turner was only seven years old, he was involved in a tragic accident which resulted in the death of his grandmother Galatea Turner. After an unfortunate and violent wand backfire, both Turner and his grandmother were buried under a mound of rubble caused by their collapsing house. Turner was trapped for several hours before being discovered and rushed to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where he would spend the next seven months of his life in recovery, undergoing extensive physical and mental therapy. So badly injured was young Turner that Healers were not hopeful he would walk or talk again, indeed, even that he would ever again live as a normal child. Fortunately, new pioneering potion and spell treatments were devised which allowed the young boy to regain full functionality._

_However, this is only the beginning of the tale. As all this happened right at the time Turner was beginning to display signs of magic, the accident caused extreme psychological damage which caused him to dangerously repress his magic. Turner became extremely unstable and is known to have lashed out uncontrollably with his magic and caused harm to his own family in the process. Turner was deemed so dangerous that he was unable to attend Hogwarts at the age of eleven in fear he would harm another student with his random outbursts of wild magic._

_Turner’s parents quit their jobs with the Appleby Arrows after their son’s injuries and travelled the world with him, apparently searching for a cure for his ailments, and also to keep him isolated from potential triggers for his traumatic attacks. They returned three years ago, at which time Turner appears to have mostly recovered from his ordeal, though they still did not enrol him in formal schooling. The year after, Turner began informally training with his parents’ club, which was the first contact he had with people close to his own age._

_By all accounts, Turner no longer has trouble controlling his magic, and managed to obtain several OWLs and begin sixth year at Hogwarts. He is, however, still said to suffer badly with claustrophobia and occasional panic attacks. Those who know him say he is an extremely ‘odd’ individual, presumably a result of extended isolation and a certain mental instability caused by the trauma. The question for many Hogwarts parents remains: does Turner pose any danger to the current students of Hogwarts? Turner, who has been romantically linked with Chosen One Harry Potter, seems to be recovered well enough to participate in normal society, but many concerned parents may wish to be reassured of this by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore himself, who has stated that in these uncertain times, his highest priority is the security of his students._

Harry finished reading, a heavy knot forming in his stomach. He almost felt sick.

People in the hall were slowly beginning to notice the article as it was rapidly spread by those who received a newspaper every day. A great whispering had began and eyes were beginning to flicker towards the Hufflepuff table in alarm. Harry himself looked over and saw that Evan had gone pale at his seat as he read his own copy.

“Harry!”

Harry turned as he saw Hermione coming towards him quickly. She sat down opposite, clutching her own paper, even forgetting to be rude to Ron, who was sitting on his left side, reading the article over his shoulder.

“Did you know about this?” Hermione asked, face creased in anxiety.

Harry glanced over at Evan once more. “Yeah, I knew.”

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Ron looked shocked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it wasn’t my secret to tell!” Harry said, frowning at him. “What does it matter anyway?”

“What does it matter?” Ron stared at him. “He could be dangerous!”

“He’s no more dangerous than I was when the _Daily Prophet_ said the same thing about me last year,” Harry snapped. “This is the sort of rubbish they like to stir up, you know that. Yeah, he was in an accident as a kid, and yeah, he’s had some problems. But he’s not dangerous.”

“This is why he’s claustrophobic,” Hermione said, looking upset. “It must have been awful for him, trapped under that rubble for so long, his grandmother dead …”

“But what’s this about the magic,” Ron demanded. He glanced at Evan quickly. “That it would burst out of him uncontrollably. Sounds like an Obscurial to me, and they’re dangerous!”

Harry didn’t know or care what an Obscurial was. He glared at Ron.

“Have you seen him losing control of magic?” he asked him. “Have you _ever_ noticed him attack anyone uncontrollably? He got better from that, Ron. That hasn’t happened in years.”

“It’s why he travelled, isn’t it?” Hermione asked, leaning in. “He said he lived in Nepal for ages. The Nepalese wizards have a reputation for having exceptional magical control.”

“Yes,” Harry said, relieved that at least Hermione was acting rationally. “That’s where he learned to control it. He hasn’t lashed out in years.”

“Then why didn’t he come to Hogwarts?” Ron asked.

“Because his parents were too overprotective,” Harry explained. “And the paper’s right, he still does get panicked sometimes. You both saw that in Snape’s class. But he can deal with it. He’s so much better.”

With the exception of the panic attack after the match, Evan had indeed been much better than he’d been in many years. He’d confided a lot more in Harry afterwards, telling him about all his previous serious attacks, most of which had happened before he started training with the Arrows.

“Can’t believe you knew all this,” Ron said, gesturing at the paper. “This is serious stuff. Aren’t you worried about it all?”

“Why would I be?” Harry asked, growing angrier by the minute. “Did you two abandon me when you found out I was a Parselmouth? Or when the _Daily Prophet_ started saying I was mad because of all the pains I got in my scar? I didn’t think you were that judgemental a person, Ron.”

“Hey, who’s being judgemental? I’m just trying to—”

“Leave it, Ron,” Harry snapped, and stood up and lifted his bag. He’d just seen Evan leaving the hall and decided to follow him and make sure he was okay.

Evan was walking extremely quickly, and Harry had to run to catch up. He was halfway down to the Hufflepuff common room when Harry caught him. Not caring if there was anyone else in the corridor, Harry pulled him into an embrace. Evan stiffened for a moment, before returning it.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry said into his ear. “They shouldn’t have written about that.”

“I’m coming to expect it,” Evan said, and his voice sounded so defeated that Harry drew back in concern. “After all, this is what the media do, right? Maybe you were right. What’s the point of trying to have a private life at all?”

Then he stepped out of Harry’s arms and continued back down the corridor towards the common room.

* * *

Evan did not turn up for double Charms that morning, nor Transfiguration after break. Harry grew so worried he spent his entire lunch break outside the Hufflepuff common room waiting for him to appear, not caring what passing Hufflepuffs said, or what Ron or Hermione may think. Eventually, as the bell went, Evan emerged, and blinked when he saw Harry.

“How long you been there?”

“Long enough,” Harry said. He came to stand by his side. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly as they began to walk back upstairs. “Don’t you have a class to be in?”

“Double free,” Harry said. “Let me walk you down to Hagrid’s, alright?”

Evan didn’t argue, so Harry walked him all the way to his Care of Magical Creatures lesson outside Hagrid’s hut. Hagrid didn’t say anything, but just raised one eyebrow as he saw Harry. He told Evan to complete the Thestral first aid packages he had been working on the previous lesson and sauntered back into his hut, muttering something about mislaying his crossbow.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, sitting on a log opposite from Evan as he began to get to work rolling up bandages. He knew this was a stupid question, one he hated hearing himself, but he wanted to get Evan to talk to him.

“No,” he said quietly, staring down at the sack in his hand. “I’m not. I’m embarrassed.”

He breathed deeply for a moment, rubbing at one eye. “I know it’s stupid. I made such a big deal to you about how I never get embarrassed about what people think. You must think I’m a hypocrite.”

“No,” Harry immediately assured him. “Believe me, I’ve had enough horrible stuff written about me to understand what you’re feeling.”

“I think I understand you a bit better now,” Evan said, looking up sadly. “When you were so embarrassed about the stories written about us. It’s not nice. Listening to the comments at breakfast … I never knew things could hurt like that.”

He looked back down at his hands. “The little things don’t bother me,” he said, filling the sack mindlessly. “All the times I mess up and say the wrong thing. I can brush it off and not care. I don’t usually mind. But this … it’s so personal. So exposing. And it could damage my career. I could get chucked out of here.”

“Dumbledore already knows,” Harry said. “He doesn’t care.”

“No, but others might. They won’t want to be around me,” Evan sighed. “They could put pressure—”

“No amount of pressure will make Dumbledore get rid of you,” Harry said, reaching out to hold his hand. “Nothing would.”

Evan smiled a little, but still looked miserable. He glanced towards Hagrid’s hut and then back at Harry.

“Maybe it’s helped me realise I’m not as comfortable as I thought I was,” he said heavily. “I thought I’d moved on from this, told myself it was all over. But the attack after the game, and now this … it’s bringing it all back, making me feel dangerous and shameful again.”

“I can guess how that might feel,” Harry said. “When Voldemort’s mind was crossing with mine, when I thought it had been me that attacked Mr Weasley and that I was dangerous to everyone around me. I was terrified I would be possessed and hurt someone. But that didn’t happen, and you’ve proven you’re strong enough, Evan.”

Evan shook his head softly. “I was hidden so long, Harry,” he said, voice choked. “I had to build such strong armour around myself to stop feeling the pain of being shut away. Yeah, I got to travel all over the world, but I was kept in complete secrecy, only saw other wizards when absolutely necessary since we only lived in places where there was hardly anyone around. They made me feel like I was a mistake, something wrong and reprehensible. They were too ashamed to tell anyone about me.”

“I’m not ashamed, Evan,” Harry said, heart beating quicker. “I’m not going to keep you hidden any longer. The party’s in a couple of weeks, and I’m going to be ready for it.”

Evan smiled weakly, but Harry thought he might not believe him. He stayed with Evan the entirety of his Care of Magical Creatures lesson, sitting off to the side when Hagrid came back out and resumed the lesson properly, and when it was time for Potions he walked at Evan’s side all the way up to the castle.

They entered the Entrance Hall as many of the others were beginning to make their way down to the dungeons for Potions. Unfortunately, Malfoy spotted them.

“Look, it’s Explosive Evander and Homo Harry! Had a nice little stroll in the grounds together? Watch him Potter, he’s dangerous.”

To Harry’s surprise, he saw Evan’s face contort with anger.

“Better either of those things than being a Death Eater like you,” he spat, positively glaring at Malfoy.

Malfoy had not expected to be shouted at, and no one else who saw it had expected it either for they all gasped. Evan’s anger was so sudden and unexpected that many were backing away, perhaps thinking of the article. It was then that Harry noticed Malfoy’s pale face had gone even paler, and his left arm twitched. Harry stared in absolute astonishment. Malfoy … he couldn’t be … an actual Death Eater?

Unusually for Malfoy, he did not stop to shout back, but headed off towards Potions without another glance at Evan. Harry turned to stare at him. “Did you mean that?”

Evan shrugged. “It wouldn’t be a massive leap, would it? He might’ve been drafted in to replace his father. He’s evil enough for it, and we never did find out who cursed Katie Bell.”

Harry remained thinking about this for all of Potions, barely even noticing the subtle whispers around the class, nor Ron’s attempts to get him to talk. The idea seemed preposterous, but the longer he thought about it …

He kept his eyes on Evan most of the time, distressed by how put down he looked. This stuff really was getting to him more than he would admit. Harry wanted to do something to fix it.

After Potions, he let Ron get a little way ahead of him before he spoke to Evan, glancing up and down the corridor for any listening Slytherins.

“Meet me on the seventh floor, left corridor, at seven,” he said, speaking in a low voice. “I want to show you something.”

Evan looked confused but nodded.

Harry spent most of dinner thinking about meeting Evan later, and barely listened to whatever Neville was talking to him about. Ron and Lavender were again too busy canoodling instead of eating, and so it was with relative ease he was able to slip away to meet Evan at just before seven.

“What is it you’re going to show me?” Evan asked, as Harry approached him on the seventh floor.

“Just wait,” Harry said, taking him by the hand and leading him down the corridor towards the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. With relief, he saw that there was no one standing there this time. Ignoring Evan’s bewildered expression, he walked up and down in front of the wall three times, focusing fiercely: _Give me somewhere we can be alone together … somewhere no one can find us … a place we can be together …_

After his third circuit, Evan jumped as a door appeared in the formerly blank wall. Harry grabbed him and led him inside before anyone turned into the corner.

Inside was what looked like a lavishly decorated hotel room, lushly carpeted and filled with luxurious furniture. A blazing fire was in the grate and there was a pleasing aroma filtering through the dimly lit room. There was a large seating area filled with comfortable looking armchairs and sofas, one wall was lined with books and reading lamps, and in the far end of the room was a huge bed with comfortable looking pillows and silk sheets. Harry blushed a little when he saw this, but didn’t let Evan notice, and just led him to one of the sofas.

He sat him down and saw Evan looking around in wonder. The light of the fire flickered against his face, highlighting his strong features and setting off a sparkle in his eyes. Harry thought he had never looked more gorgeous than he did now.

“What is this place?”

“It’s the Room of Requirement,” Harry said. “It only appears when you ask it for something.”

Evan raised an eyebrow and glanced towards the massive bed in the corner. “And what did you ask it for?”

“Somewhere we could be together,” Harry said, taking his hands somewhat shyly. “Whatever that means. I’m sick of sneaking around, meeting up in dark cupboards. I want to be with you.”

“And that means …”

“Whatever you want it to,” Harry said, beginning to blush again. “You’ve been upset today. When I’m upset … being with you makes me feel better. If—if the opposite’s true … I’m here. We can do what you want.”

Evan’s face grew softer and he smiled. He lifted Harry’s hands and kissed them. “I’m already feeling better,” he said. He shifted a little closer to him and leaned down to kiss him. When he pulled back, his eyes stayed closed for a moment before opening to look down at Harry.

“Can anyone find us here?”

Harry shook his head. “I asked the Room not to let anyone else in.”

“So, we’re alone? Completely? For as long as we want?”

Harry nodded, heart beginning to beat faster. He suddenly felt very dry mouthed, and despite the fact that this had been his idea, he was wracked with nerves. It had been a while since they’d been allowed to be totally alone together.

Evan exhaled, and licked his lips. “Okay, then.”

Taking Harry by the hand, inching closer and starting to kiss him. Harry kissed him back, the fluttering in his stomach growing worse by the second. Their kiss was slower and more gentle than many of their ones before, and Harry relaxed into it, not feeling the slightest apprehension when Evan began reaching for the fastenings of his robes and pulling them over his head.

They broke apart and sat together, foreheads touching. “You okay?” Evan asked him quietly. “You’re shaking.”

“Fine,” Harry said, smiling a little. “More than fine. Just a bit …”

“Me too,” Evan said, and Harry noticed Evan’s own nerves for the first time. “D’you want to just … lie down together for a while?”

Harry nodded, and they crossed to the bed, where they lay down on top of the sheets. Evan reached for Harry straight away, and Harry was more than happy to snuggle up to him. It was the first time they’d been in a bed together since London, and it was an intoxicating feeling to be lying here so close to him, their skin touching. Harry’s hands were on his chest, Evan’s wrapped around Harry’s stroking the flesh softly.

Evan leaned down and kissed Harry on the forehead. Harry’s mind was blank of anything but the feel of Evan’s hands on his body, his lips on his lips, the feel of him, the scent of him …

They broke apart after a while, and lay looking at each other, heads on the pillows. Harry gazed up at him, unable to believe how lucky he was this incredible boy was here with him, that he was lying here with him. Evan was staring at Harry, and then reached up and pushed Harry’s hair aside, running his fingers down his face, brushing the skin softly.

“Evan?” Harry said, voice quiet as a whisper, despite it being only the two of them. “I meant it. I’m not hiding you anymore. I’m telling Hermione this week. Ron as well.”

“You don’t have to,” Evan said, also whispering, bringing his face closer. “I understand.”

“I need to,” Harry said, grabbing the hand which was caressing his face and kissing it. “This is too good to hide.”

Evan’s eyes swam with emotion, and a tiny smile started on his lips. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal if you don’t want it to,” he said. “Nothing has to change between us. I’m not about to start demanding public displays of affection or anything.”

“I know,” Harry said, reaching his hand out to rest on Evan’s side, tracing the shape of his ribs with his fingers. “But I want to be honest. I’m not sure how I’m going to do it, but I am. I’m going to that stupid Christmas party with you, and I want you there as my boyfriend.”

Evan exhaled sharply, and he squeezed his eyes shut. His lip was trembling. “I’d love that, Harry. If you want to, then we will. Just don’t rush into something you’re not ready for.”

“Evan,” Harry said, more firmly, making him open his eyes, lifting his hand to the back of his head and stroking his blond curls. He swallowed and took a deep breath. “Let me tell you something I don’t usually tell anyone. I spent my childhood sleeping in a cupboard.”

Evan’s eyes went wide, and there was a flash of outrage on his face.

“You’re kidding!”

“No,” Harry said, moving on swiftly before Evan could get indignant. “Up until I was eleven. And sometimes, even now, I feel like I’m still there. Trying desperately to be normal, not attract attention, make others around me happy just for an easier life. But I don’t want to be that way any more. I don’t want to be stuck in a closet the rest of my life. You make me brave enough to leave it.”

Evan was blinking, and Harry was shocked to see him suddenly emotional. Evan’s hands reached around Harry’s back and pulled him so close their noses were almost touching. Harry was breathless as he stared into Evan’s eyes. Even after all these months, he never got over how startling they were, nor how they seemed to hypnotise him, leave him utterly under his spell.

Evan took a few deep breaths and seemed to be mustering the courage for something. He placed a hand on Harry’s cheek, kissed him on the forehead and then looked back at him.

“Harry,” he said, voice trembling a little. “I … I love you.”

Harry froze and the breath seemed to leave his body. An overwhelming sensation was filling him up from the inside, sending his mind into a blank state of bliss. He stared at Evan, unable to believe this, refusing to believe he’d just heard those words from his mouth.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Evan said quickly, perhaps embarrassed by his statement and Harry’s stunned silence. “I—I just needed to say it.”

Harry finally found his tongue and discovered that his eyes had filled with tears. “No one’s ever said that to me before,” he said, voice trembling worse than Evan’s had.

Evan’s face creased in distress and his grip on Harry’s face became tighter. “How is that possible?” he breathed. “You should have been told that so many times, Harry. You’re amazing.”

Harry’s throat had gone very tight, and he fought back the tears which threatened to fall. “I love you too, Evan,” he managed to say finally.

Evan’s eyes had never lit up so brightly as they did now, and the next moment his lips were on Harry’s, kissing him deeply yet sweetly, _lovingly._ Harry’s body felt like an electric current had just run through it. Evan loved him! And he loved him back.

Harry was so filled with delirious happiness he was surprised his body could contain all of it. Who cared about all the darkness in the outside world, prophecies and evil wizards? Evan was here with him, and he loved him.

That was enough.


	40. Fireside Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this one 😊

The sheer elation from his visit to the Room of Requirement with Evan did not wear off for several days, in fact, Harry thought it might never do so. He had to stop himself bursting out into random grins and laughter in the corridors, and could not help but blush and smile whenever he caught Evan’s eye. It had been well past midnight when they had finally left, and both were forever changed for the better. Harry was so happy he could float, and was surprised no one had yet noticed and accused him of casting a too powerful Cheering Charm on himself.

However, come Sunday afternoon, Harry’s mood had begun to deflate slightly. He’d sworn to himself that he would not finish the week without telling at least one of his friends the truth, and time was now running out. He sat for a long time in the common room just staring into the fire, (Ron off in a corner snogging Lavender) thinking about it. Ron looked far too occupied at present, and Hermione was not here, as she rarely was when Ron was making a public display of disgusting affection. He got more and more nervous as the evening wore on and Hermione did not appear, and Ron did not surface. He needed to tell one of them tonight. Although Evan had said it did not matter, Harry knew he had to; he’d been putting it off for ridiculously long enough already. If he didn’t do it now, he knew he’d keep putting it off forever.

Ron finally decided enough was enough with Lavender and headed off to bed.

“You coming?” he asked Harry.

“No, I’ve got this essay to finish,” Harry said, gesturing to a blank sheet of parchment before him and the book in his lap, which was upside down.

Ron stared for a moment, but then shrugged and headed up the dormitory stairs. Harry was then mostly alone in the common room save for the odd person finishing off homework. It was not until ten o’clock that Hermione finally returned to the common room.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked, almost rudely, and she raised her eyebrows.

“Prefect duties,” she said, somewhat miffed. “ _I_ don’t abandon my responsibilities just because there’s a pair of lips flying at my face.”

She made to go up to the girls’ dormitory, but Harry shouted after her, somewhat desperately.

“Wait, can—can you help me with this? Potions essay?”

She folded her arms. “Can’t your precious _Prince_ help you with it? It’s late.”

“Please,” Harry said, looking at her imploringly. “I need your help.”

Hermione looked as though she was about to refuse, but she must have seen something on Harry’s face which made her frown and then change her mind. To Harry’s relief she came and sat beside him and began looking over the first meagre paragraph he’d written, immediately beginning to cross things out.

Harry’s stomach fluttered nervously as he looked around the room. Three people left. Just had to wait until they’d gone …

He tried to focus on his essay, answering Hermione’s questions and trying to look as though he was genuinely interested in Life Giving Elixirs, continuously checking over his shoulder every few minutes. Two fourth-years and a fifth-year … he wondered if he could ask Hermione to use her Prefect privileges and chuck them out.

The little crease on Hermione’s brow deepened as she noticed his lack of attention, and he began to worry she’d lose patience and head off to bed, so he forced himself to look more engaged, voice becoming almost hysterically loud as he asked her the stupidest of questions. A quick glance—one left now.

It seemed like an age until the last fifth-year finally went off to bed, and as soon as she had disappeared up the staircase, Hermione pushed the essay aside and turned to him.

“Right, what is it?” she asked. “You’ve been as nervous as a hippogriff since I sat down.”

“Nervous?” Harry repeated in a slightly higher voice. “I’m not nervous.”

“Harry,” Hermione said gently, face softening. “You’ve got something to talk to me about. What is it?”

Harry opened his mouth, but words seemed too difficult right now. His heart was hammering and he felt himself starting to sweat. What was wrong with him? He wanted to do this, he’d been planning this all day. Why couldn’t he speak?

Her face was kind and open, but Harry kept looking away, licking his lips several times, as if doing that would make his dry mouth any better. He wished he had a glass of water or something. His hands were twisting in his lap.

The next moment, Hermione had reached over and taken one of his hands into hers. He looked up and saw her looking at him, eyes warm.

“You’ve got something to tell me?”

Unable to say anything, Harry nodded. His breathing had quickened slightly. _This was it_.

Hermione inched a little closer to him, dropping her voice a little more. “Is it … something to do with Evan?”

He nodded again. He dropped his eyes once more, staring at their hands. Why was it trembling so much? She already knew anyway, didn’t she? Why was confirming it so hard?

“Do you like him?”

_Well, that was a massive understatement_ , Harry thought, but instead, he just nodded.

Drawing in a quick breath, he finally managed to speak. “Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse. “A lot.”

Hermione was silent a moment, but her grip on his hand became a little tighter.

“Does he know?”

Harry snorted before he could stop himself. “Yeah,” he said, “definitely.”

“I see, so … something’s happened between you two then?”

Harry almost laughed as he pictured what Evan and he had been doing a couple of nights ago. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting so hysterically?

“Yes,” he said, feeling his cheeks beginning to redden. “More … more than you might think.”

By now, Harry was sure he must almost be crushing her hand, but she did not remove it. Instead, her own grip increased too.

“Harry,” she said, her voice now more tender than ever, “are you gay?”

Harry tensed a little, but forced himself not to back out, remain calm. He could be confident in this. Evan was. He wanted to be too. If he couldn’t tell Hermione, how could he tell the rest of the world? He took a deep breath.

“No,” he said, clutching her hand yet more strongly. “I’m … I’m bisexual.”

As he said it, he realised that was the first time he’d said those words aloud, and a part of him wanted to cry with joy.

Hermione was quiet for several moments, she seemed to be breathing deeply. Harry could not raise his eyes to look at her.

“How long have you known?” Her voice sounded oddly thick now.

“For definite? Since the Hogsmeade weekend,” he said, feeling slightly dizzy. “But … for a while before then … I thought …”

He was suddenly unable to go on. The emotions were almost choking him now, and he was still trembling fiercely.

“Harry, look at me.”

He didn’t want to. It seemed like the last final step was the hardest. But, after a moment, he did. To his shock, he saw Hermione’s own face was covered in tears, and her mouth was open in a wide smile. Instantly, Harry’s body seemed to sag with relief, relief so strong he could have cried.

“This happened at the Championships, didn’t it?” she asked, still smiling widely. “The _Daily Prophet_ didn’t get it totally wrong.”

He nodded. “It started then,” he said, not taking his eyes off her smile to find the strength to go on. “But nothing much happened. We … we kissed, once at the party and once in London, but … I didn’t know what to do afterwards. I freaked out a bit … and then the article came out.” He stopped and drew another deep breath. “I rejected him at the station, and it was the worst mistake I ever made, Hermione. But then … then he came to Hogwarts … and we fixed things. We’ve been sort of together since the end of September, but I … I wasn’t ready to let anyone know.”

“And now you are?” Hermione asked, still beaming broadly. “Oh, Harry, I’m so happy for you. I’m so happy you told me!”

Still sobbing, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, not even caring that she had upended a bottle of ink over a textbook, and Harry hugged her back, holding back his own tears with difficulty. Sheer happiness was soaking through every inch of him. His heart felt fit to bursting.

“You don’t seem surprised,” he noted, when she finally released him.

“I’m not blind, Harry,” she said, laughing. “I’ve guessed for a while, and you must have known. But I thought you were gay and just hiding it. I didn’t know you were bisexual!”

“I didn’t either till Lupin suggested it,” Harry said, starting to really relax now. “I’d never even heard of the word. But I’ve thought about it a lot, and it’s what seems to fit best.”

“So Lupin knows? Who else?”

“Well, Kingsley was following us at the Lodge, so he guessed and it was confirmed when the article came out,” Harry said, a little apprehensive at the thought of telling her. “And Dumbledore knows. He came into mine and Evan’s room in the summer and … sort of guessed. And McGonagall because … I don’t know really, I think she guessed too, and she knows Evan and I sneaked off together in Hogsmeade. And Tonks, because she saw the blackmail letter that Karlsson sent me—oh, Karlsson as well, since she saw us kissing at the Lodge. And Cho, I think, because she confronted me a couple weeks back about whether I’d been using her and I think I gave myself away. And Hagrid, because he saw me and Evan together when Evan had a panic attack and figured it out.” Harry breathed out, suddenly realising with some awe just how many people actually knew. He met Hermione’s eyes again. “But … you’re the first person I’ve properly told. The first one I’ve actually told I’m bisexual. Everyone else assumed or guessed. Sorry.”

The worry that she might be offended at being the last in such a long list soon proved unfounded as she smiled again. “I’m glad I’m the first you’ve told,” she said warmly. “I don’t care how many others knew before. It means more like this. I’m so pleased you trust me.”

Harry nodded, squeezing her hand again. “You’re so incredible, Hermione,” he said, getting emotional again. “I knew I could tell you.”

She beamed again, sniffing loudly. “Why now, Harry? If you’ve known since October, what’s changed?”

“I want to come out properly,” Harry said, feeling the stabbing anxiety in his gut. “I want to go to Slughorn’s Christmas party with him. I thought … you deserved to know first. I’m comfortable now. I want people to know, and you most of all. I’m sorry I waited so long.”

“I don’t care, Harry,” she said, coming even closer and wrapping her free arm around his shoulder. “If you feel you’re ready to come out properly, I’m going to be there with you, okay? You know I love you, don’t you?”

Harry laughed, nodding; hearing that phrase for the second time in a week was exhilarating. “Thanks.” He breathed in again, trying to calm his racing heart. “When did you suspect?”

“Since the article, really,” she said, sounding entirely matter-of-fact, as though describing how she’d figured out a Transfiguration problem. “I thought it was funny at first, but only because they’d written so much other rubbish and I knew you’d liked Cho so I didn’t think it could be true. It didn’t even _occur_ to me to think it could be true. But then I saw your face while we were all laughing … you looked distraught, Harry. And afterwards you were so miserable. I could’ve put it down to nerves about the rumours and coming back to school, but then Evan showed up at King’s Cross and you nearly fainted at the sight of him. Every time I saw the two of you after that, I just … I don’t know, _saw_ something. And he’s been around so much more, and you’ve been spending more time with him and you’ve been so much happier, I just assumed something had happened. It’s the way you talk about him, defend him, look at him. It’s loads of little things, really, that all built up. It’s so obvious I’m surprised Ron hasn’t noticed yet!”

At the mention of Ron, Harry stiffened. “I think he did, quite a few times,” Harry said, sighing heavily. “But I kept lying to him, putting him off. Now I don’t know how to tell him.”

“Ron cares about you,” Hermione said firmly. “He might be … a bit surprised, especially since you’ve been so adamant nothing was going on, but you have to know he’d _never_ turn away from you.”

“He hates Evan,” Harry said, his joyfulness now blighted by new nerves. “He isn’t going to be happy for me.”

“You have to give him a chance, Harry,” Hermione said, squeezing his hand again. “He’s an idiot, I know that, an insensitive idiot at times, but he’s your best friend. He deserves that chance.”

“Like you gave him a chance?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve never told him the truth about how _you_ feel.”

Hermione flinched, but then nodded. “I know,” she admitted. “But I’m not as brave as you. You can do this, Harry. Whether he likes Evan or not, he likes _you_. You have to tell him the truth, for your sake and his.”

Harry smiled, moved more than he could say by Hermione’s acceptance and her calm support.

“You really are so amazing, Hermione,” he said, a single tear finally leaking from his eye. “Thank you.”

She responded by throwing herself at him again and they hugged, both attempting to hide their tears.

“I’ll be with you when you tell him, if you want,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Oh, Harry, I’m really so thrilled for you. Are you happy? Really happy with him?”

Harry grinned broadly, wiping away his own tears. “I’m completely crazy about him,” he said, laughing. “I love him, Hermione, and he loves me. I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

Hermione gave a very un-Hermione squeak of delight he would normally associate only with Lavender or Parvati, and then she’d fallen into his arms again, her bushy hair ending up pushed into his face, and making him laugh as he hugged her back, more grateful than ever for that mountain troll breaking into the girl’s bathrooms all those years ago and bringing him this girl as his friend.

“Harry? You coming up or what—”

Harry broke away from Hermione quickly at the sound of Ron’s voice and turned to see him standing at the foot of the boy’s dormitory in his pyjamas. Ron’s face slackened in shock as his eyes fell on them, observed how closely they sat together, how alone they were, how flushed their faces were, and moved to their school things which had fallen on the floor in a mess with all the exuberant hugging, and then to the ink bottle which had fallen over and was leaking ink all across the carpet. Harry let go of Hermione, knowing how this must look, hugging each other like this so late at night alone in the common room.

Ron seemed utterly speechless, and his face had gone pale. The muscles clenched in his jaw and he turned and hurried back up the stairs.

“Maybe don’t tell him right now,” Hermione said quietly, and Harry nodded in agreement.

Just when _would_ be the right time to tell him?


	41. Test of Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy World Book Day everyone! I celebrated today by doing a virtual Harry Potter quiz with my class. Swear to Merlin, those kids WILL like Harry Potter if it kills me!

When Harry woke up the next day, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he remembered his conversation with Hermione the previous night. He hadn’t realised how much of a heavy weight had been on his shoulders. And now that weight was almost lifted.

Harry got ready to go down to breakfast and noticed that Ron was barely looking at him. He got dressed and left the room without saying so much as a word to him. Still, Harry was too happy to be upset by this. If Ron wanted to be stubborn and not say what he was thinking, so be it.

Harry went down to breakfast and sat with Hermione while Ron ensconced himself with Lavender, with the two of them putting on such a show they had to be pried apart by an irate Professor McGonagall. Afterwards, Ron kept glancing at Harry and Hermione more than usual, and his ears turned pink.

“He thinks there’s something between us,” Harry said to Hermione in a low voice, “after last night.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” Hermione said briskly. “If he was just a little less of an idiot he’d see the truth, or if he even bothered to ask. But no, Ron’s emotionally mature, Ron deals with his troubles by sticking his tongue down another girl’s throat.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at that, which earned them another suspicious look from Ron. They left breakfast pretty soon after that. Harry was in a free period, but he decided to walk Hermione to Ancient Runes on his way back to the common room. As they approached the classroom, they saw Evan standing leaning against the wall. He stood up straighter as they approached.

Hermione was practically skipping by the time she reached him and had a huge smile on her face. Evan looked at her for a moment, and then at Harry, hope beginning to appear on his features.

“Did you …”

“Hermione knows,” Harry said, grinning when Evan also began smiling in the same broad way he only did in Harry’s presence.

“I’m so happy for the two of you,” Hermione said, wrapping her arms around herself, looking as though she’d rather have thrown them around Evan but couldn’t because of all the witnesses.

“Thanks,” Evan said, still grinning, cheeks going a little pink. “I’m glad you know.”

He looked back at Harry, smile faltering a little. “Ron doesn’t though, does he?”

“Not yet,” Harry said, deflating a little. “In fact, I think he’s now got it into his head that me and Hermione are a thing since he walked in on me telling her last night. But I’ll tell him. Soon, I hope.”

Evan nodded. “I don’t really care if you do. I’m just glad you’ve told Hermione.” He smiled at her. “No offence to Ron, but I like you a bit better.”

“Of course you do, I treat you like you’re human,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “But Ron’s actually a good person. I know it might not look it sometimes, but he is.”

“At least you call him by his first name,” Harry muttered. On seeing that the class were now going inside, and Professor Babbling was looking at him a bit strangely, he bid them goodbye and headed up to the common room. He noticed straight away that Ron was there, sitting with his Potions notes spread all around him.

“Mind if I join?” Harry asked, coming to sit down.

“No,” Ron said curtly, keeping his eyes on his textbook. His brow was furrowed, and he held his quill so tightly as he wrote he was blotting the parchment.

Thinking it would be best that he not broach the subject right now, Harry began his own Potion’s work, which was greatly hampered by the fact that he’d spilled quite a bit of ink over it last night when Hermione had upset the ink bottle. Ron watched him siphoning off the ink with his wand for several minutes, face set in a stony mask.

“Couldn’t you have gotten Hermione to do that last night?” he asked in a bland tone.

“I can manage,” Harry grumbled, not in the mood for Ron’s passive aggressive insinuations.

“If you’d wanted to be alone with her last night, you could’ve just told me,” he said, looking back at his textbook. “You didn’t have to make up a lie about homework.”

“She did help me with homework,” Harry said, which was not exactly a lie.

“Alright then.”

Ron said nothing for several minutes, looking to all appearances to be entirely absorbed in his Potions homework.

“I suppose the two of you will be going to the Christmas party Slughorn’s having,” Ron said, again, making his voice sound entirely banal. “With all the other Slugs.”

“Yeah, we will,” Harry said, more irritated than ever. “But not with each other.”

“Alright.”

Harry went back to his own homework, so annoyed he could barely concentrate. Ron did not speak the rest of their free period, and it was quite a relief to get away from him when he headed into Defence Against the Dark Arts and sat down next to Evan.

“He definitely thinks me and Hermione are secretly together,” Harry whispered to Evan when Snape wasn’t looking. “He’s being his usual stubborn self. I need to let him cool off a bit or something. Let him see there’s nothing there.”

“Okay,” Evan nodded. “Whatever you need. I’m happy with just Hermione knowing. You know, she talked to me all the way through Ancient Runes?”

“Did she?” Harry asked, smiling and glancing back at Hermione, who was still looking pleased. “I’ve never known her to talk all the way through a class.”

“You underestimate how much she cares about you,” Evan said softly. “She’s definitely a great friend.” He glanced back to Ron. “I just hope he’s the same.”

“He is,” Harry said, though inwardly, he was beginning to be plagued with all his old doubts.

* * *

Over the next week, Harry couldn’t find any moment to talk to Ron, mostly because when Ron wasn’t wrapped up in Lavender, he was silently glaring at Harry and Hermione sitting together and talking. Most of the time, they were discussing how best to tell Ron the truth, but it just sent Ron into an even fouler mood, which meant it became impossible to try and talk to him. It would have really upset Harry if not for the fact he was happier than ever with Evan.

Now Hermione knew, he and Evan were able to be much more open around each other, and Harry did not mind her knowing glances as the three studied together in the library, or her little smiles when she saw Evan brush his hand up against Harry’s on the table or give him a quick kiss goodbye on the cheek when Madam Pince chucked them out the library at the end of the day.

“You’re so cute together,” she gushed one time, as they walked back up to the common room. “You blush every time he kisses you. It’s adorable.”

“Er, thanks, I guess?” Harry said, a little uncomfortable. He had not thought Hermione the type of girl to talk like this.

“He gets all flushed too, Harry, don’t be embarrassed.”

Harry took her advice and didn’t. He and Evan remained open with each other, and Hermione often left their study sessions early in order to give them some time together, smirking knowingly as she did so. Harry was too pleased to be bothered. This, in addition to the fact that Hagrid beamed at them whenever he saw them made Harry deliriously happy he was finally starting to be more open. The only thing which would make it perfect would be Ron also knowing.

“I think we should tell him tonight,” Harry said, the Monday night on the week of the party. His stomach was already aflutter, but he knew he could put it off no longer. “Get it over with.”

“Are you sure, Harry?” Hermione asked. She glanced over at Ron with a wrinkled nose, seeing him squashed up with Lavender. “You know what Evan said …”

“I don’t want Ron finding out with the rest of the school,” Harry said firmly.

The common room slowly emptied of people, but still Ron and Lavender kept it up. Ginny came over at one point and sat with Harry and Hermione.

“I don’t know how he manages without air,” she remarked casually. “Unless of course he’s breathing out his arse, which wouldn’t surprise me.”

Harry laughed quietly but didn’t feel much like it. The common room was almost empty now. It was almost time.

Eventually, Lavender departed to the girl’s dormitory with a sickening _“Night night, Won-Won!”_

Ron looked as though he was about to get up and head to his own room when Harry stood up suddenly. “Ron, can you come over here for a bit?”

Ron looked to where Ginny and Hermione were watching him sullenly and grimaced. “I’d rather not, mate.”

“Just come over, Ron,” Hermione snapped. “We’ve got something to tell you.”

That got his attention. He paled, and his mouth set in a grim line. He marched over and slumped down on the sofa beside Ginny, chewing his tongue and looking at Harry and Hermione, both of whom were standing up.

“Well?”

“Um, Ginny, d’you mind …” Hermione began, but Harry shook his head.

“No, it’s okay, she should know too.”

Ginny frowned, looking extremely interested. Ron raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Harry took a deep breath, drawing on whatever courage he could. Unlike with Hermione, Ron did not look ready to accept him with welcoming arms. But, like it or not, he had to do this now. He wouldn’t back out like a coward now.

“Well, get on with it then,” Ron said, scowling. “Tell us, so we can say we’re happy for you and congratulate the two of you.”

“What?” Harry asked, caught off-guard completely.

“I’m not an idiot, Harry,” Ron said, face going red. “I know what you’re about to say. I’ve seen the way the two of you have been hanging out this last week, whispering all the time, and I saw the two of you last week hugging all alone in the dark. You’re a couple, aren’t you? Well, I hope you enjoy Old Sluggy’s party together. He’ll be thrilled to have you both.”

He began to get up out his seat, but Hermione lost her patience.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Ron, sit down and shut up and listen for once.”

Ron flushed worse but stayed sitting. It was then Harry saw the deep hurt in his eyes, almost entirely masked by his jealousy and pretended indifference. _Hiding who you really fancy really does get you more trouble than it’s worth_ , Harry thought as he watched him. _True for me and Evan, true for those two._

“Ron, I’m not going to the Christmas party with Hermione,” Harry said, as calmly as he could. “And we’re not a couple.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ron said. “Then what’s all those private conversations been about then?”

“Maybe just the fact that you won’t let me talk to you normally?” Harry shot back. “The conversations wouldn’t have been secret if you’d bothered to come over and stop being a stubborn git.”

Ron glared at him, and Harry was angry with himself for how badly this was going already. He attempted to calm himself down again, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

“Ron, I swear, I am _not_ going to the party with Hermione. I’m going with someone else.”

“Who?” he demanded. “Cause I haven’t seen you ask anyone!”

“Probably because you don’t surface long enough,” Ginny snapped. As she turned to look back at Harry though, a new understanding had come into her eyes and she offered him a gentle smile which Harry took as encouragement.

“I’m going with Evan.”

Ron’s jaw dropped and he stared at Harry for several moments, completely bewildered. He frowned, and looked pretty much exactly as he did whenever Professor McGonagall asked him a question in class.

“ _Turner?_ But _why?_ ”

Ginny rolled her eyes dramatically and held her head in her hands, but Harry kept on looking at Ron, heart in his mouth as he said his next part.

“Because he’s my boyfriend.”

Ron looked as though he’d just been hit in the face. He blinked rapidly. He’d gone very still.

Harry waited impatiently for him to say something, feeling at any moment that he might collapse, cry or just scream something at him. Only the presence of Hermione at his side, and the smile he saw on Ginny’s face prevented him.

“Boyfriend,” Ron repeated, sounding as though he’d never heard the word before. “As in … _boyfriend.”_

Harry nodded. “Yes.”

Ron blinked some more, frowning in complete bewilderment. “So … you’re gay?” He stared at Harry some more, and shook his head slightly. “But—you can’t be!”

Harry’s heart sank and tried to explain before he lost his nerve. “You’re right, I’m not, I’m—”

“Was Cho all a lie then?” Ron demanded, looking more and more confused by the second.

“No, she wasn’t, it was—”

“What then?” Ron still looked as though someone had just told him Harry was actually a vampire. “If you were really into her, how can you be—”

“I’m bisexual,” Harry interjected quickly, heart beating painfully. When Ron continued to look baffled, he explained. “It means I like boys and girls.”

Ron looked taken aback. “What? That’s not a thing! Is it?”

“Yes, it is,” Hermione said, leaping into defend Harry just when he was about to lose his nerve. “And it’s just as valid an orientation as gay or straight.”

Ron turned his attention to her, and his face drained of colour.

“You knew?” he asked quietly. “You told her before me?”

“You haven’t exactly been the easiest person to talk to lately, Ron,” Harry said, just as quietly, hating the flash of betrayal he’d seen cross Ron’s eyes. “She’d mostly guessed anyway.”

Ron turned back to him, face flushing with anger. “Yeah, because I’m the clueless one, right? The one everyone thinks is too stupid to notice anything?”

“Well, aren’t you?” Ginny had now leapt in, glaring at her brother. “You’ve been glued to Lavender since October, not like you would’ve noticed anything important happening right under your nose.”

“You knew too?”

“No, but I’m not as surprised as you are,” she turned to Harry and smiled brightly. “Makes sense, actually.”

Harry was grateful for her support, and for Hermione’s reassuring hand on his elbow, but the pain in his heart would not stop as he saw Ron’s continued anger, his expression of hurt as he looked back at Harry. He stood up to face him, breathing heavily.

“I’m not as much of a gullible idiot as you think I am, Harry. I guessed as well, you know. And I’ve asked you,” he said, voice trembling. “I’ve asked you _loads_ of times. Back at the Burrow twice, the night we got back, when I saw the two of you in the library, after the article in _Witch Weekly_ … I gave you all those opportunities to tell me. You always said no. Are you telling me you _lied_ each time?”

Harry could not help but flinch. This was true. He _had_ lied. And it was not something he was proud of.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” he asked, face plainly displaying his hurt. “You’re my best mate! Why would you lie to me so much?”

All at once, Harry’s patience broke, and all the hurt feelings he himself had had over several months came pouring out.

“Can you blame me?” he said, voice rising. “Look at the way you reacted when the article came out! You were killing yourself laughing at the very idea I might fancy a boy! How could I have told you then? You thought the whole thing was ridiculous!”

“Only because I thought it was another stupid rumour from the _Daily Prophet!”_ Ron retorted angrily. “Come on, the day before they were saying you summoned the Snitch using just your mind! I thought that was it—they didn’t have much to base it on, did they? And you’ve never shown any interest in boys before.”

“And what about when you thought it might be true? You looked absolutely appalled at the idea!”

Ron went bright red, and he flinched. “Only because we’d just been laughing at it, Harry,” he said. “I was appalled at _myself_. I thought: ‘Oh, shit, he’s actually gay and I’ve just laughed at him’. But then you said you weren’t and I was relieved! I didn’t want you to be upset.”

“That’s the way you looked every time,” Harry said, blood pumping in his ears. “You’ve always been desperate to disprove the rumours.”

“Only because I thought they bothered you!” Ron’s voice was now as loud as Harry’s. “You _told_ me that they upset you. You _wanted_ them to stop. As far as I knew, I was doing what you wanted! Of course I was going to try and disprove it if you tell me it isn’t true.”

“Yeah, just like you did when I told you I didn’t put my name in the Goblet of Fire.”

Ron recoiled sharply. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Of course it is,” Harry said. His hands were shaking, and he felt his blood coursing through him like fire. “You always believe what you want to believe.”

“That’s not fair!” Ron shouted back, face now absolutely furious. “What was I supposed to think, Harry? You _told_ me you didn’t fancy him.”

“And what would you have done if I’d told you I did?” Harry demanded. “You’ve made absolutely no secret of the fact that you don’t like him. What was I supposed to do?”

“Trust me!” Ron bellowed. He was now breathing extremely heavily, and his face was as red as his hair. He looked almost tearful. “Do you _honestly_ think I would’ve turned my back on you or something if I found out you were dating a guy? Do you know me at all?”

Harry was now almost tearful as well. He was struggling to speak without breaking down.

“You never exactly gave me any indication you’d be okay with it either, did you?” He breathed deeply for a moment, fighting the rising surge of emotion within him. “I was scared, Ron. I was scared of telling people.”

All anger drained from Ron’s face and he looked at Harry as he’d never looked at him before. He looked horrified. He was blinking furiously again. He took a few moments before taking another deep breath.

“You could’ve told me, Harry,” he said quietly, voice trembling worse than ever. Then, he turned around and raced up the dormitory stairs.

Harry turned around and sank into the sofa, feeling as if all the life had just been drained from his body, head dropping into his hands. Immediately, Hermione and Ginny were by his side, both reaching out to stretch an arm around him.

“Ron’s an idiot,” Ginny said fiercely. “You were really brave to do that, Harry. He’s no right to turn around and act all offended.”

“But I did lie to him,” Harry said, sniffing. “I lied so many times.”

“You lied to me too and you don’t see me biting your head off,” Ginny said, taking one of his hands. “I can understand, Harry. The way it all came out was horrible. I don’t blame you for finding it daunting, especially finding us all laughing about it like that. I’m just glad you’re happy to tell the truth now. It means you’re finally comfortable about it, and that’s all that really matters, not who got told a few white lies.”

Harry didn’t feel much better about it. He’d finally done it, he’d told Ron, and Ron was angry with him.

“We’re here for you, Harry,” Hermione said, sounding close to tears. “Remember that.”

“Yeah,” Ginny soothed, rubbing her hand on his back. “Ron just lost any last smidgen of respect I had for him and you just gained it all. I’m happy for you. I don’t really know Evan, but I’m sure he must be great if you like him so much. Ron’s just jealous he’s a better Keeper than him.”

The two girls stayed with Harry a long time, hugging and consoling him, saying similarly supportive things to Harry and other disparaging remarks about Ron, but little of it made him feel any better.

No matter what they said, Harry could not help but feel he’d just lost his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, the angst in this fic is almost over for good! Promise!


End file.
